Harry Potter and the Vault of Time
by Ian Hycrest
Summary: One tiny change makes all the difference in the world. When Harry discovers a small box in his vault during his first visit to Gringotts, he is hoping for a memento of his parents. Instead, his discovery starts him down a path of intrigue and suspicion. Not sure who he can trust, Harry will have to learn to rely on himself. Book 1 of The Cry of Freedom. Updates every Tuesday.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer – I own nothing_

* * *

_A quick glance in any bookstore will show dozens, if not hundreds of books about Harry Potter. It seems anyone with any inclination to write has a story to tell about our hero and founder. And to be fair, many of these authors have a unique perspective; most of them did, after all, live through the events surrounding Potter's ascension. It is only fair, then, to ask why I have chosen to write this. What could I have to say that so many others have not said before me?_

_I will readily admit that in my youth, I was not one of Potter's supporters. Largely due to the influence of my head of house at Hogwarts, as well as certain prominent members of that house, I was convinced that Potter was nothing more than a spoiled brat with delusions of grandeur. I did not approve of him, and I certainly did not approve of his relationship with my sister. Oh, how times change._

_Harry Potter truly was a hero. But these days, I find a disturbing sentiment has begun to spread. All too often, people believe that Potter's triumph was a matter of fate; a destiny that was set in stone even before his birth. They point to the famous prophecy, and proclaim that of course things had to happen as they did. How could he have failed?_

_These people are asking the wrong question. They should be asking, how could he have succeeded? His entire life had been dictated according to Dumbledore's schemes to ensure Potter was nothing more than a pawn. Those who were morally or legally obligated to aid Potter were instead the first to support his tormentor's actions, falling victim to the lie that it was all for Potter's own good. And yet, somehow, despite the many trials that came his way, Potter prevailed._

_Where did Dumbledore's plans go wrong? What small, seemingly unimportant detail escaped his all-seeing eyes, allowing Potter to break free from the myriad webs the manipulative plotter had woven? Was it truly destiny, as some would claim?_

_It is easy to attribute Potter's accomplishments to destiny, for in so doing, we absolve ourselves of any guilt for our own shortcomings. There's no prophecy about me, we tell ourselves, so, of course, I cannot succeed at such great things. But in so doing, we reject the old refrain that Harry Potter was so fond of quoting, and upon which he based his entire life. _

"_I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul."_

_-Excerpt from the preface of 'No Fate but What We Make: The Story of Harry Potter', by Astoria Greengrass_

* * *

_October 31__st__, 1981_

_Godric's Hollow_

Frantic footsteps sounded throughout the house as Lily Potter dashed up to the nursery where her son lay sleeping. Behind her, she could hear her husband yelling as he did everything he could to stall the monster that had come for them. Deep down, she knew that he would not be able to stand for long. Choking back a sob at the knowledge that there was no way to rescue him, she instead focused on what she could do. Save her son.

Her precious babe began crying, startled from sleep by the sound of the door slamming open as his mother rushed into the room. She could still hear noises coming from downstairs, but put them out of her mind. She pulled her only hope for survival, a small wooden box, not much larger than a deck of cards, from her pocket, and set it on the ground, then reached for her wand, only to discover to her horror that it was not in the sleeve pocket where she normally kept it. All the air in her lungs seemed to disappear as she stared at the rune on top of the box that seemed to be mocking her; her salvation so close, and yet so far. She heard her husband give one last scream, and then there was silence.

Fear, panic, and sorrow filled her mind, but those feelings quickly gave way as desperation turned to resolve. It was too late for her. But perhaps, just perhaps, she could save her son. She quickly snapped one of the wooden bars on the crib where her son sat, watching her curiously. Using one of the sharp edges of the wood, she stabbed it into her hand, wincing at the pain, but feeling triumphant as the blood spilled across her hand and onto the ground. She could hear footsteps on the stairs as she dipped her finger into the blood, and quickly drew the necessary runes on her body, as well as that of her son. Whispering the necessary words for the ritual, she nearly shouted in triumph as she completed her preparations, the blood being absorbed into Harry's skin as the magic took hold. She would die, but her death would give her son a chance at life.

The door burst open, and the abomination strode calmly into the room, a look of triumph and glee on his inhuman face. She knew it was hopeless, but pleaded for the life of her child anyways, hoping to distract her killer so that he would not see the trap she had set. As green light filled her vision, every last bit of magic and will in her body rose up in a desperate plea, a prayer to whatever Gods may be watching that her son would survive. And then, she knew no more.

* * *

_May 17__th__, 1983_

_Godric's Hollow_

Junior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at the ruined house before him, a silent testament to the sacrifice that had ended the war just a year and a half ago. The Wizengamot had voted to claim the house and property as a monument and war memorial. Shacklebolt had mixed feelings about that, but, he had a job and he intended to see it through.

He walked calmly through the now ruined gate, a small runestone allowing him to pass through the temporary wards the ministry had established after the death of the Potters. He walked into the kitchen, where the control stone for the wards was placed, and deactivated them, allowing the workers to enter the house. They quickly set about their work, gathering everything of value into space expanded trunks that would be placed in the Potter vault.

Shacklebolt wandered through the house, keeping an eye on the other people just to ensure there were no problems. And as always, the old adage 'many hands make light work' proved true. Less than an hour after they had arrived, the workers were finishing up. Soon enough, the trunks were packed and sealed, ready to be transported to Gringotts.

As several of the workers left with the trunks, Shacklebolt took one last look around the house, pausing as he noticed one of the workers showing another something, then slipping it back into his pocket.

A few quick strides brought him up to the workers, both of whom he had previously resolved to keep his eye on. Mundungus Fletcher did not have the best reputation, after all, and while Shacklebolt didn't know anything about William Widdershins, anyone who seemed as friendly with Fletcher as the other man was likely just as much of a scoundrel. "What was that?" he demanded.

Fletcher seemed to be trying to stay calm, but Widdershins paled. "Weren't nothing at all," he stammered.

"Let me see it." Shacklebolt's voice was firm, but with a hint of violence behind it, causing both men to swallow nervously.

Reluctantly, the other man pulled a small wooden box out of his pocket. Shacklebolt took note of the strange rune on the top, but besides that, there was nothing noteworthy about it. He tried to open the lid, but it didn't budge. He turned his attention back to the would-be thief, who glanced nervously at Fletcher.

"It's just a souvenir," Widdershins tried to explain with an awkward attempt at a smile.

"I don't care if you consider it a souvenir or not," Shacklebolt snarled, ice creeping into his voice as he glared at the beady-eyed man before him. "You are not _stealing_ from an _orphan!_" He looked at Fletcher, who was trying, and failing, to keep a look of innocence on his face. A quick search of both men turned up several other "souvenirs", all of which Shacklebolt confiscated.

"Get out of here before I decide to arrest you," he ordered. Both men were happy to oblige. Shacklebolt sighed, then looked at the small collection of items on the counter. He knew that if he conjured a container, it wouldn't last through the years in the vault before Harry Potter claimed his inheritance. Stepping out of the house, he noticed a small cardboard box one of the neighbors had set out to be recycled. It was just about the right size, so he quickly grabbed the box, and loaded into it the items he had rescued from the sticky-fingered workers. Still in a bit of a foul mood, he apparated to Diagon Alley, and made his way to Gringotts, with one last deposit for the Potter vault.

* * *

_July 31__st__, 1991_

_Gringotts, Vault 687_

Harry Potter stood in awe, staring at the piles of gold before him. He had never had much growing up, certainly not in comparison to Dudley. The idea that all of this belonged to him was nearly overwhelming.

Hagrid began scooping some gold into a bag, while the goblin, Griphook, stood stiffly by the door, but Harry hardly paid them any mind. He walked slowly into the vault, looking around in amazement. Soon, however, the amazement turned to sorrow, as he realized that this was all that was left of his parents. And while a part of him knew the gold would be useful, he wished that there was something more. Something of them that had been left behind. A journal, a notebook, anything. His attention was drawn to a small cardboard box in the corner of the vault. Hoping that these might be items taken from the house after his parent died, he walked over to the box, and looked in. A few odds and ends lay inside, nothing more. It was a little bit disappointing, but still, it was something. Reaching down, he picked up a small, wooden box with a strange mark on what he assumed was the top.

"C'mon, Harry," his massive guide called. "Lots to be done today."

As Harry walked back to where the large but friendly man stood, he slipped the wooden box into his pocket so that he would have something from his parents, not realizing as he did just how much the future would change from this one, simple act.


	2. Chapter 1: Relic from the Past

The Cry of Freedom

Book I: Harry Potter and the Vault of Time

Chapter 1: Relic from the Past

Harry sat on the broken bed in his new room. To be fair, it was difficult to call the room his. After all, it was still full of Dudley's stuff, most of it broken and forgotten. But Harry didn't really mind. It was still better than the cupboard where he had spent most of his childhood.

He gazed down at the books at his feet. _Magic_ books. While he had been aware of strange things happening around him, he had never imagined that it could actually be something as fantastic as magic. And to learn that there was an entire society of wizards and witches, hidden away! It was like something out of a fairy tale. He would be joining them in just one month. Excitement rose up in him, but also a little bit of fear and panic.

His trip to Diagon Alley, as Hagrid had called it, earlier that day had revealed that he was famous in the magical world. But deep down, that fame scared him. He didn't know any magic. What if he wasn't a very good wizard? Would people laugh at him? Get angry that their hero was such a failure? And that was why he was here, still awake long after the Dursleys had gone to bed. He wanted to study. No, he _needed_ to study. He needed to learn.

He grabbed one of the books at random, but as he set it down in his lap, he felt something in his pocket, something he had forgotten about. He pulled the small box out and stared at it curiously. On his way home from Diagon Alley, he had tried to open it, but found no way to do so. He finally gave it up as a bad job after noticing the looks he was getting from the other passengers on the train. As he looked at the box once more, he could not deny the feeling that there was more to this box than it seemed. Whatever it was, his parents would not have gone through all this effort to keep it shut for such a small thing.

He went to work at the box once more, pulling and pushing and twisting every way he could, but nothing worked. And then he remembered how Hagrid had opened the wall behind the Leaky Cauldron to get into Diagon Alley. With his hand trembling at the thought of doing real, intentional magic for the first time, he raised his wand, and tapped on the strange symbol engraved on the top of the box.

Harry bit down on his tongue to keep from yelling in shock as the box expanded rapidly, then he paled in fright as it fell to the ground with a loud thud. He could hardly dare to breathe as he listened with all his might for any indication that the noise had awoken his relatives. He had learned long ago that doing anything to disturb the Dursleys' sleep was never a good idea.

After several tense minutes, he decided that his nighttime activities had gone unnoticed, and turned his attention back to the (now) massive trunk that lay on the floor. It had fallen backwards, with the hinges on the ground, the unmarked bottom of the trunk near his feet. He stood up from the bed, and walked around the box, studying it carefully.

_I did magic!_ The thought sprung triumphantly to his head, as he gazed down at the large wooden crate. He smiled. Perhaps now he would be able to open it, and see what was so important to his parents. Not wanting whatever was inside to come spilling out from opening the trunk while it was still on its side, he reached down and grabbed the side to tilt it back up.

He paused, and shot a cautious look at the door. He had been lucky that the earlier noise hadn't awoken his relatives. He didn't want to take that chance again. Hands once more trembling at the thought of doing magic, he grabbed his wand, and walked around to where he could see the same strange symbol in the top of the lid. He tapped it once more, and sure enough, the crate shrunk back down to its previous size.

With a smile at the amazing object his parents had left behind, he quickly righted the box, and cleared out plenty of space around to be sure it wouldn't hit anything when it expanded. He tapped the box once more, and before he could even blink, the large trunk stood majestically in front of him once more.

He unhooked the small latch on the front, and lifted the lid, once more gasping in shock as he stared down into the inky darkness below. Although it probably shouldn't have surprised him, given that it was a _magic trunk_, he was still shocked to discover that the inside of the trunk went further down than it should. Somehow, it was bigger inside than outside. A ladder had been attached to one side of the trunk, and, like any young boy in his situation, Harry could hardly wait to explore.

He looked around the room, his eyes lighting up as he discovered an old torch that had been gifted to Dudley at some point. Pushing the button, he was pleased to see that the batteries still worked. He shone his new light down into the trunk, and happily noted that the ladder went all the way to the bottom, about ten feet or so down. Harry was amazed when he realized that, from what he could see, it looked like the trunk actually held a small room!

With the torch still held in one hand, he made his way down the ladder. Sure enough a few small items of furniture filled the room, which was only about 10 feet deep. Harry struggled to keep the tears out of his eyes as he studied the small desk where his parents must have sat. A small closet still held some of their clothes. At the back was a large cabinet, hopefully still holding some more of their old possessions.

Realizing that the faint light from the torch would be insufficient to really see everything, he looked to the ceiling, and was pleased to note something that looked like a light. Unfortunately, as he studied the walls, he didn't see any light switch. He looked around for a few minutes before finally abandoning the search. There was no switch to be found.

"This is a magic trunk, which means that not everything is going to be exactly what I expect," he muttered to himself. _They probably have different ways of turning on lights,_ he realized. He looked for any sort of symbols like the one on the lid, but his efforts were in vain.

_Who knows what they can do with magic_, he thought. He smiled as an idea came to him. "Lights" he called.

Nothing happened. Harry sighed in frustration, but was determined to keep trying. After all, maybe 'lights' wasn't the right word. "Power? Power on? Electricity? Lights please? Turn on the lights? Lights on?" As soon as he finished the word on, the fixture overhead began to glow, illuminating the small space where he stood. He squinted his eyes and raised one hand to block the bright light that now filled the room.

As his eyes adjusted, he looked around once more, taking note of everything. Unfortunately, there wasn't much more to see. He opened the closet and was pleased to note that there were some of his parents' clothes, but not many. There was a strange sight on the wall above the desk – two clocks, one moving at normal speed, while the other was much faster, the hands seeming to fly as they spun around frantically. The drawers in the desk held some paper, and some of the heavier parchment, similar to what he had seen in Diagon Alley. A few pens and quills were also there, but it wasn't until he got to the bottom drawer that he gasped in amazement once more, then reached down.

He had seen the piles of gold in his vault, and knew that his parents had a great deal of money, but that was different from seeing stacks of bank notes. Harry had never been allowed to touch any of the Dursley's money, but he knew that what was in this drawer was a fortune. Probably enough to buy a car, or maybe even a house! So why was it here rather than in a bank? He shut the drawer, and began exploring once more.

Sadly, there wasn't much else to see. The cabinet was the most disappointing thing. Harry had had hopes of discovering some of his parents' possessions, but it was empty. He looked into the vast cabinet, then pushed away his disappointment. Even if it wasn't everything he had hoped for, it was still more than he had before today.

He smiled as he realized that he could keep his magic things down here where they would be safe from the Dursleys. That had been a major concern, after all, and this way, he would always know where everything was. He climbed back up the ladder, grabbed one of the bags, and then slowly made his way back down. Wanting to ensure that everything stayed relatively organized, he placed the bag inside the cabinet, grumbling a little to himself that there were no shelves in the cabinet to help with that organization, then went back up the ladder and grabbed the next bag. He strode across the room and opened the cabinet door, then stared in horror at the sight before him. The cabinet was empty.

Panic welled up inside him as he realized that several of his books were now missing. What would he do? He stumbled back in horror, tripping over the bag he had just brought down. He could only stare as the cabinet door shut with a heavy thud that seemed to echo throughout the room. Harry desperately scrambled to his feet. There had to be something. Some clue, something to tell him what had happened to the books he had placed in the cabinet. He frantically grabbed the door and pulled it open, only to stare in shock at the bag, lying there in plain sight.

Relief warred with confusion, as Harry studied the bag and its contents closely. Nothing was missing. It was just as it had been when he had placed it here. _What happened_, he wondered as he studied the cabinet. Inside, he could see a few strange carvings, but nothing that looked like a fake wall panel or anything like that. He did notice that someone, probably one of his parents, had, for some strange reason, attached a small handle on the inside of the door. Slowly, cautiously, he closed the door once more, craning his neck so that he could see the bag through the shrinking crack for as long as possible. His hand stayed on the handle, trembling slightly as he steeled himself to look inside once more. After a few moments, he took a deep breath, and pulled the heavy door open. As he had half expected, the cavernous cabinet was empty. He shut the door, took another deep breath, and opened it again. Sure enough, there was the bag. He repeated the process a few more times to make sure. Bag gone. Bag here. Bag gone. Bag here.

Once more, a feeling of wonder and awe crept up as he thought about the magnificent things that magic could do. But still, he had to wonder why. What was the purpose in making a cabinet that made things disappear or reappear? Surely it couldn't be about saving space, could it? After all, this trunk proved that magic could make things bigger on the inside, so why not have a cabinet or closet that was more spacious than it seemed? That would surely be easier to use than a cabinet where things would appear and disappear each time you opened the door.

And that was when he finally understood. Why there were no shelves in such a large cabinet. Why his parents had attached a handle to the inside of the door. It wasn't a cabinet at all.

It was a door – a gateway to _somewhere else_.


	3. Chapter 2: A Matter of Time

Chapter 2: A Matter of Time

Despite what his Aunt Petunia liked to claim, Harry Potter was not stupid. A bit impatient, certainly. Sometimes even a little bit reckless. But not an idiot. And so, he took some basic precautions before stepping into the cabinet and deliberately sending himself _somewhere_ with no idea of how to get back.

"Still there, all spiders look alive and well," he said under his breath, as he studied the jar holding half a dozen of his previous roommates from his time down in the cupboard. He had transported the jar back and forth between wherever the cabinet went 10 times now, just to be sure that it was safe for living beings. After all, even if he was pretty sure that his parents had intended to use it for human transportation, there was no real way to be sure. Better safe than sorry, as they say.

Harry stepped back, pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down, still staring at the cabinet. The cabinet certainly seemed safe. He knew that scientists liked to use monkeys for experiments to make sure that things were safe for humans, but he didn't have any monkeys. _Perhaps I could grab one of the cats from Mrs. Figg down the street_, he thought. She certainly had enough. He toyed with the idea for just a few moments before discarding it. Having to deal with an angry cat would likely be more trouble than it was worth, and if anyone saw him, it would cement his already low reputation with the neighbors.

He finally decided that he needed to just take a deep breath and go for it. Fortunately, he had already come up with a plan to ensure that he didn't get stuck. Taking a piece of paper out of the desk, he wrote a short message to his uncle.

_Uncle Vernon –_

_I discovered this trunk that my parents left, and saw a note where they had left a large amount of non-magical money. I went to get the money, but if you are reading it, I am stuck. If you get me out, I will split it with you 50-50. Just open and shut the large black cabinet at the back of the room in the trunk a few times and I will appear inside. I know this is magic, and that you may not like it, but I am sure that the money will make it worthwhile_

– _Harry _

To be honest, the idea of having to share the money his parents had left him kind of disgusted him after how his relatives had always treated him. In fact, if he did have to be rescued by Vernon, he was sure that his uncle would demand all of the money, but he figured that was better than being stuck somewhere with no way to return. And if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Vernon's greed would outweigh any concerns about the "freakishness" involved. He climbed out of the trunk, affixed the note to the edge of the trunk, then quietly made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

None of the Dursleys were at all interested in exercise, but they still had a few water bottles. He filled one up, and grabbed a few snack bars from the pantry, just in case he was stuck for a while before being rescued. A quick glance at the clock showed that it was just a little bit after 4:00 in the morning. Harry was surprised. He'd never stayed awake this late, but he was still too excited to be tired. A part of him knew that he was going to regret his decision when it came time to do his chores tomorrow, but for now, he was a boy on a mission.

Once more stealthily making his way up the stairs to his room, and back down into the trunk, he paused for a moment, staring at the large cabinet looming in front of him. He took a deep breath, then opened the door, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him.

He wasn't sure exactly what he had been expecting. A flash of light as he was transported, or perhaps some sort of sound, or something. Instead, nothing happened. He sighed in disappointment. He had been so sure. Trying to suppress the frustration that he felt, he pushed the door open again, and stepped out, then froze. A smile spread slowly across his face as the realization hit. It had worked. He was _somewhere else_.

Somewhere else, in this case, was a large room, not very wide, but quite long, with dark blue carpet. Several dark, wooden doors stood out on the light brown walls. All of the doors were shut, so he couldn't see anything else, but that didn't do anything to diminish the excitement that he felt. He laughed out loud, both at the thrill of having been magically transported somewhere, and the release of tension that had been growing at the possibility that the cabinet might not work and he might somehow get stuck.

As that thought crossed his mind, he turned back to the cabinet he had just stepped out of. It looked just like the one in the trunk. He stepped inside, and shut the door, then opened it again. Sure enough, he was back in the trunk. Once more, he laughed aloud, only to stop quickly as he realized that he was now in the house where the Dursleys were still sleeping. He went back to the other place, making a mental note to figure out something to call it, and began to explore.

If there was any doubt that this was a magic place, that was quickly put to rest when he looked at the very first room. It appeared to be some sort of laboratory, and was clearly designed for potions. Numerous shelves lined the walls with all sorts of ingredients that closely resembled the things he had seen at the apothecary in Diagon Alley. In fact, there was a cupboard with clear doors that held a large number of potions already brewed, each kept in a small flask, with strange labels. Mysterious substances he had never heard of, with names like _veritaserum_, _draught of living death_,_ unctuous unction_, and _polyjuice potion_. He wanted to learn about each and every potion here, but first, he decided to continue exploring.

Another room seemed to be some sort of exercise room, with weights, and devices that looked similar to work out machines from a gym. There were several other rooms with what looked like specific equipment that Harry didn't recognize at all. He would need to study and see if he could figure out what it all was for. A huge, empty room that looked a lot like the gym at school had a small closet with some brooms and a few balls of different sizes. There was a massive library with thousands of books, a kitchen with a good-sized table, and several rooms with beds. He was thrilled when he found a room with a large desk, with many folders and notes.

He grabbed a hardcover notebook from one of the shelves and began reading. Tears came to his eyes as he realized that he was holding his mother's diary. While he was still excited about everything else that he had seen in this incredible place, nothing came close to this diary. Unfortunately, it only took a few minutes of reading to figure out that this was a continuation of an earlier diary. It talked of people and places Harry had never heard of. Clearly, he would need to find the first part before anything would make sense.

With a sigh, he placed the diary back on the desk. _It's probably for the best_, he thought sadly. No matter how excited he was, he needed to get back to the Dursley residence. He had been exploring for well over an hour already, and he had no way of knowing how much longer he had before his relatives awoke. He didn't want Vernon to see the note about the money, and it certainly wouldn't be pleasant if he didn't make it back in time to cook breakfast. While the Dursleys seemed to have decided on a "wait and see" approach now that they knew he would be learning magic, he didn't particularly want to do anything that might anger them. Best to just keep his head down for the next month.

He walked back to the main room where the magic cabinet loomed in the corner. As he walked over to it, something caught his eye. He turned his head to see two clocks mounted on the wall. One moved at regular speed, but the other moved very slowly, seeming to take a little over a minute each time the second hand moved. Harry pushed aside his confusion and stepped into the cabinet.

He paused to grab the note he had left on the trunk, being sure to tear it up into tiny pieces so that none of his relatives would be able to put it back together. He walked back downstairs and into the kitchen, then glanced over at the clock. It was a quarter past 4. He walked over to the refrigerator to see what they had, then paused. He spun back around, and stared at the clock once more. Sure enough, the clock said it was 4:13.

Several jumbled thoughts spun around Harry's head, fighting for dominance. He was sure that when he checked the clock when he had got the water and snack bars, it had been just a little after 4. Was the clock broken? Or… Harry's excitement grew as he considered another possibility. _Is it possible that time is somehow… stopped… when I go to the other place?_ Perhaps the other place was a different world, or a different reality where time had no meaning. After all, with magic, anything was possible! He ran back up the stairs, wincing at how loud he was being, but unable to contain his excitement. He scurried down the ladder and stared at the cabinet.

_How do I measure time in the other place?_ he thought as he wracked his mind trying to find some way to test his theory. Finally, an idea hit. He climbed back up into the room, and began searching through the detritus of Dudley's discarded belongings, looking for something that could be used to keep time. A soft, but triumphant cry of "yes" filled the room when he discovered a wind-up timer in one of the piles. It could only go up to 60 minutes, but that should be long enough for what he intended.

He sped back down the ladder, and set the timer for 10 minutes, then placed it inside the cabinet and shut the door. He opened the door to confirm that the timer had been sent to the other place, and then counted to 10. Shutting the door and opening it again, he was thrilled to see that the timer had already rung.

He repeated the experiment again, only this time setting the timer for the full hour. This time when he brought the timer back, it was still counting down. He looked at it, and did some quick math. About 14 minutes had passed in the other place, while only 10 seconds had passed here. Harry could hardly breathe. He had been right. Somehow, in the other place, time was… _different._

He sat down at the desk and wrote down the numbers. He had never been the best at math, but he was sure that he could figure this out. _Let's see, 60 seconds in a minute, times 14 minutes means… 840 seconds. Divide that by 10 seconds here, means that time goes 84 times faster in the other place!_ He sat back in amazement, putting his hands behind his head as he tried to grasp the enormity of what he had discovered. That was when he noticed something he had overlooked before.

The clocks. Harry stared at the two clocks on the wall, finally grasping the significance. One clock moved at regular speed. The other moved much faster. _That must be how fast time goes in the other place,_ he thought. He watched the two clocks carefully, waiting for the one moving normally to start counting a new minute. Once it began, he looked over at the other clock, carefully noting what time it said. He waited for one minute, then compared the time on the faster clock to what he had written down. An hour and 16 minutes had passed. The math was easy to figure out. 76 times faster in the other place than in the normal world. _I guess I must have been a little bit off when I was counting seconds earlier_, he realized.

Harry stepped into the cabinet, excited to return to the other place. _I think I'll call it Timeland_, he finally decided. That certainly seemed like an accurate description. He exited the cabinet, pausing to look at the clock. It was amazing to see the clock that he now realized was set to earth time moving so slowly.

He yawned, all the excitement from the day catching up to him. It had been fun, but now he was dreading the long day he would have ahead of him. He glanced up at the clocks again, smiling as an idea came to mind. Just one minute of earth time was more than an hour in Timeland. That meant that he could get a full night's sleep, and it would only be a few minutes back on earth. Once more pushing past his amazement that such a thing was possible, he trotted over to one of the rooms with the beds.

The bed seemed to be in good shape. He laid down, and was surprised by how soft and comfortable it was. Definitely nicer than any bed he had slept on before (that, of course, wasn't saying much, given that most of his life had been spent sleeping on a small cot that just barely fit in the cupboard under the stairs). He stood back up, put his glasses on the nearby nightstand, took off his clothes, and climbed under the covers. "Lights off," he confidently called out. Sure enough, the lights in the room were extinguished, and darkness prevailed.

Harry Potter fell fast asleep with a huge smile on his face. _Magic is awesome_, he thought as he slipped quickly into dreamland.

* * *

A/N - Quick introduction to how I use A/N's. I'll try to keep these to a minimum, since I know how frustrating it is when the note makes up the majority of the word count. In general, I will use them to explain why things may deviate from canon, or to answer common questions that can't really be worked into the stories. This is a 'want of a nail' type story. In this case, finding the trunk was the nail, and things will gradually change from here. As such, Book 1 will be a little bit shorter, but there will still be some changes. You can assume that everything before that key event was the same, and anything that I don't show, or don't explicitly say is different, just went as in canon. I don't want to copy the books for something that you already know.

Now, just a quick note on Timeland, and magical 'gear' in general. We see very little in the way of magical gear/technology in the books, but there is enough to suggest that there are many more things we are unaware of. I will try to make logical extrapolations about what sort of inventions are possible, and in some cases, try to explain why they aren't as common. For example, time compression vaults (like Timeland). As many authors have noted, this would be much more useful than a time turner, and isn't quite as outrageous - we know that time can flow differently given certain circumstances even without magic. So why don't we see them in canon?

Harry won't realize this for a few years, but Timeland is a very unusual thing. You can't go and buy a trunk with a room that speeds up time. The enchantment to speed up time is fairly well known, but it is virtually unusable. It takes months to get up to speed, and once the process begins, nobody can enter through apparition, portkey, floo, or simply walking. The time differential would kill them. Lily had the bright idea to use a pair of Vanishing Cabinets (instantaneous transport - even through wards) to bypass this restriction. Harry's parents had to create a special facility (with one Vanishing Cabinet in place), then activate the enchantments that speed up time. Without this, a person would have to dedicate over a year of their life (months to get up to speed, then just as long to slow back down) to use a TCV. Has anyone else ever figured out this loophole? Nobody knows!


	4. Chapter 3: Back to the Alley

Chapter 3: Back to the Alley

Harry awoke with a groan, sitting up from where he seemed to have collapsed on the ground in the gym at timeland. He looked around, trying to figure out what was happening. _Last I remember, I was… _ his thoughts trailed off as he tried to remember exactly what he was last doing. He could have sworn he was just in the potions lab. _So how did I get here?_ He stood up, twisting a little bit as he stretched, then looked around, still confused.

On the ground by his feet, he spotted a small piece of paper, and what looked to be an empty potion vial. Reaching down to grab them, Harry was at first confused to discover his handwriting on the page. After reading the message, however, he understood.

_Temporary forgetfulness potion test. Do you remember what you hid and where?_

Although he was still slightly confused, Harry couldn't suppress a smile as he began to put the pieces together. He had been in the potions lab. And he remembered that there were several potions he had been interested in experimenting with to learn how they worked. Apparently, he had decided to give it a try.

He looked at the message once more. It clearly stated that it was a temporary forgetfulness potion. That meant that he could take the antidote anytime in the next 5 days, according to his mother's notes, in order to restore his memory. But first, he might as well test out the potion.

Harry wandered from room to room, looking for anything that might remind him of what he had forgotten. It didn't take overly long to wander through all of timeland. He was very familiar with the whole facility, after all. He had taken to spending his nights here in what he now knew was called a time compression vault. He spent 8 hours of earth time, which translated to an extra 25 days. This was the ninth night he had spent here, meaning that he had already had more than 200 extra days to learn about magic.

He had used that time well. He had already covered the spells in all of his first year books, and had begun reading books from the second year material that he had found in the library. He had brewed a few simple potions and was learning about some more advanced potions (which evidently lead to his current situation). He had even learned to fly a broom (which was not terribly difficult, at least in his opinion) and had read about that Quidditch game he had heard of while in Diagon Alley.

After a few more minutes of wandering, Harry was finally ready to concede that the potion seemed to work like it was supposed to. He didn't see anything that prompted any new memories. Of course, some of his mother's notes had mentioned a skill called Occlumency which might interfere with the potion, but there wasn't anything he could do about that now. He had discovered a small crystal which would supposedly teach him occlumency through defending against increasingly powerful mental intrusions, but he hadn't begun working on that yet. In fact, everything he had read suggested that developing sufficient skill to guard against mind-altering spells and potions would take years of dedicated study.

He walked back to the potions lab, and quickly grabbed the counteragent to the forgetfulness potion. His eyes trailed over the many potions held in the stasis cupboard. As always, he was amazed by just how many there were. And he had only begun to scratch the surface on the uses for them all. He had used the aging potion frequently, of course. Every day, he needed to buy enough food to last for the weeks he would spend in timeland that night. If a preteen was seen purchasing that much food, it would certainly have raised a few eyebrows. Fortunately, one vial of aging potion was enough to make him look like he was in his mid 20's and lasted four hours, allowing him to go shopping then wait in the time vault until the potion wore off.

He walked into his room, and lay down on the bed, not wanting a repeat of the uncomfortable position he had woken up in. Harry uncorked the vial, and quickly swallowed the contents. After just a few seconds, the room began to spin, and his vision grew hazy. Harry struggled to focus, but it was in vain. Everything went dark.

The boy found himself floating in a great darkness. He looked all around the massive abyss in which he found himself, but there was nothing to see. Emptiness everywhere he looked. He tried to remember how he got here, but he couldn't remember anything. He couldn't even remember who he was! Just as panic began to set in, his memories began to come back. Not like a movie playing. No, he suddenly knew things without any way of knowing how he knew them. A bright flash of light startled him, and he found himself in the potions lab in timeland, looking at the potions in the stasis shelves. Relieved to be somewhere familiar, he tried to turn his head to look at the clock on the wall, but was horrified to find that he couldn't move.

Harry _(yes, that's who he was. Harry!)_ felt as though he was trapped in his body, a body being controlled by someone else. He was simply a passenger along for the ride as his body ran a finger along the shelf, pausing occasionally to look at the names of the various potions. Finally settling on one labeled _Forgetfulness Potion (Temporary)_, he walked back to the desk, and pulled out his mother's notes on the potion, as well as a book which contained the standard recipe for the potion. He was unsurprised to note that his mother had made several modifications to the recipe. That was quite common it seemed. After all, no successful potions master would so easily reveal all the secrets to their craft.

After several minutes of study, Harry glanced at the clock, and then found himself doing some mental calculations. The potion was supposed to erase the last hour from a person's memory. He had been reading for maybe 5 minutes, so he had another 55 or so to go before he would take the potion. In the meantime, he should get some things ready.

He wrote a quick note out on the paper (and wasn't that a weird feeling, as he experienced his past self deciding what to write down on a piece of paper that he had already read once before), then walked into what he called the gear room, and pondered the various enchanted objects in front of him. All sorts of artifacts could be found in here. It seemed that both his parents had made a habit of collecting anything with unique magical abilities. According to his mother's diary, his father had been quite a prankster while at school, and made use of many enchanted devices to aid in his pranking endeavors (and later on, in the war effort), while his mother was more interested in the academic approach, trying to determine how the various enchantments worked.

Harry turned around a few times, looking for something suitable. He finally settled on a small wooden box, about the size of one of the toys Dudley had been given years ago, a strange mental puzzle called a Rubits Cube, or something like that. (Why anyone thought Dudley would be interested or even capable of solving a mental puzzle was something Harry had never figured out.)

Harry was very familiar with this particular item. It was an emergency kit that his parents had put together. Several space expanded compartments held various supplies that could be useful in a variety of situations, which made it a very logical and useful possession for people in the middle of a civil war.

Once more, Harry was struck by the strangeness of the situation, as he was powerless to resist as his past self walked forward and grabbed the kit. He strode out of the room. He could feel his past self growing more and more excited at the idea of the test he would soon be implementing as he looked for a good place to hide it. Finally, he tucked the kit behind a few of the books on a shelf in the library, being careful to ensure that the books still lined up in the front, so as not to leave any trace that something was hidden back there. He glanced at his watch, and was slightly disappointed to see that he still had a little more than half an hour to go before he could take the potion and begin the test.

He made his way over to the gym, setting an alarm on the clock on the wall for 25 minutes and began to work on his Quidditch skills. According to the book he had read, called "Quidditch Throughout the Ages", the seeker was usually the smallest and fastest player on the team, which he felt suited him just fine. Quickly climbing onto the broom, he activated the snitch and both bludgers (set on the lowest difficulty level, of course) and went to work, flying swiftly to avoid the bludgers targeting him as he chased after the snitch. It didn't take too long to catch the elusive winged ball, after which he let it go and began the process again.

He had caught the snitch several times when the alarm went off. A quick command deactivated the bludgers, and all the quidditch balls returned to the small cupboard where they were stored. He flew down to the cubby where he had left his gear, and grabbed the potion. Suppressing a momentary spike of anxiety, he uncorked the vial and quickly downed the potion.

Once more Harry found the room growing dark, then with a soft cry, he shot up from the bed where he lay, his heart beating rapidly. He brought his hands in front of his face, relieved that he once more had control of his body. His heartrate and breathing returned to normal as he realized that it was over, and things were back to normal. He stood up, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand, a small frown crossing his face when he saw that the potion had taken a full hour to run its course. Apparently, reliving the memory he had lost occurred in real time. _Slightly inconvenient,_ he thought, _but on the whole, not too bad._

He walked into the library, and approached the shelf in question, taking a moment to study it. It was exactly like he had seen in the memory. Pulling the books on the left side of the shelf off, he was unsurprised to see his parents' kit hidden behind the books. He grabbed the kit, replaced the books, then walked over to the gear room to put the kit back where it belonged, tossing it up and catching it a few times as he walked.

When he made it to the gear room, he paused, and looked at the kit a bit more closely. It seemed like such a waste to have such a useful item, and just leave it here all the time. Resolving to find some way to unobtrusively carry it with him from now on, he walked back to his room to begin getting ready for bed. The experience with the forgetfulness potion still weighing heavily on his thoughts, he knew he wouldn't be able to focus on much else for a little while.

After brushing his teeth, he sat down in the comfortable recliner next to the bed and grabbed a book from the nightstand. He had never really been particularly enthusiastic about reading, but that was an inevitable result of being punished anytime he inadvertently revealed that he was more intelligent than Dudley. Not that being more intelligent than Dudley was a particularly difficult achievement.

However, having spent several months here in timeland, Harry needed to find someway to pass the time when he wasn't working or studying, and books had filled the void in his life. He had taken a particular interest in fantasy and science fiction. He flipped the book open to where the bookmark lay, and continued reading about the brave Hobbit, Frodo, and his quest to destroy the One Ring.

* * *

The days passed quickly. Even with how much time he had already spent here, there was still so much more for Harry to do and to learn. He continued experimenting with some of the potions. Fortunately, none of the others affected him as drastically as the forgetfulness potion. Still, it was very strange to look in the mirror and see that his hair had been changed to a different color, or his eyes, or that his ears or nose were now noticeably larger or smaller. Many of the potions he decided to just read about the effects without testing them out, as they seemed potentially harmful. He was very tempted to use the potion called Unctuous Unction on his relatives. Supposedly it would make them think he was their best friend. He held off for now, but resolved to keep it in mind for next summer.

And now, it was once again time for him to go back to the real world. Fortunately, it would be for just a matter of hours, and then he would be back here where he belonged. He stood up from the chair where a pair of enchanted scissors had been cutting his hair, an important ritual to ensure that his relatives didn't notice any change in his appearance. He swept the hair off the floor, then made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. He paused to look in the mirror, studying himself closely.

He had now spent 12 nights in timeland, which equated to 300 extra days. While a part of him knew that he should be worried that he was nearly a year older than he should be, Harry couldn't really bring himself to care. These past months had been the best of Harry's life, without a doubt. And it showed. He was eating healthy food, and always had as much as he needed. He made sure to exercise at least one hour every day. He had even checked out some books from the library on how to exercise and maintain a healthy lifestyle, and he could say with certainty that the ideas he'd read had worked.

After showering, he quickly got dressed, and checked to make sure that he had everything he needed. He pulled on a pair of cargo pants, and checked that the emergency kit was in the hidden, space expanded pocket on the right leg. He put the new glasses he had purchased a week ago back on the nightstand, and put the old ones back on, once more cursing the Dursley's hatred for magic that made the deception necessary.

He walked out of the room, and down the hall to the large, black cabinet lurking in the far corner. He stepped in, then walked out into the room of the trunk back in his bedroom at #4. Climbing up out of the trunk, he turned back around to shut the lid and shrink the trunk back to its smaller size, then picked it up and carefully placed it in the expanded pocket on his left leg. Just like always. He stretched for a few minutes, then walked downstairs and began to make breakfast.

His uncle left for work right after breakfast (without a word of thanks, as always), and after he had finished washing the dishes, his aunt sent him outside with a list of chores. He was quite confident that these chores were nothing but made up work to keep him busy, but he didn't particularly care. After all, his healthy lifestyle book said that it was a good thing to spend some time outdoors, which was quite rare for him, given how much time he spent at timeland.

After a few hours, he was unsurprised to hear the garage door open, and his aunt's car drive off. He walked over to the back door, and tried the handle. Not surprisingly, she had locked the door, but that didn't matter to Harry. He had long ago made a copy of the key, using the aging potions to avoid any questions.

He walked into the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water, taking a moment to look at the calendar thoughtfully. _Tuesday the 21__st__. That means I have a little under two weeks left before I leave for Hogwarts._

While before, the idea of going to Hogwarts had filled him with equal measures of anticipation and apprehension, now he was remarkably unconcerned. After all his practice, he knew that he would do as well as any of his peers. That wasn't to say that he wasn't excited. He was certainly curious about what it would really be like for him to experience it first hand, but after reading his mother's diaries, he had a pretty good idea of what to expect at Hogwarts. _Or, at least, I think I do…_

That particularly train of thought trailed off as Harry reconsidered his situation. Everything he knew about magical culture came from his mother's words, and while he had no doubts that his mother was very intelligent, she was still just one person. Further, there must have been some changes to magical society in the time since she was there. After all, there had been a _magical civil war_. That's the type of thing that would probably result in some major changes.

Harry glanced over at the calendar once more. On Thursday, his aunt had several appointments that would likely keep her out and about for most of the day. Not that such an occurrence was particularly unusual – she seemed to be going out of her way to find reasons to spend as little time as possible at the house these days. With Dudley always out with friends, she probably didn't want to be stuck here with Harry.

Harry washed the glass he used, careful to leave no trace that he had been inside, then walked out to the backyard, being sure to lock the door behind him, mind racing as he made plans.

* * *

Thursday morning dawned bright and clear. Last night, Harry had snuck outside and made a mess of a few things. Undoubtedly, his aunt would attribute it to the pets of one of the neighbors, but he would be stuck with the job of cleaning it up. Not that he was bothered by this. In fact, he was counting on it.

He had long ago realized that his aunt paid more attention to appearances that anything else. So long as things looked good when she got home, she would assume that he had completed all of his assigned tasks. Having several very obvious problems when she left meant that as long as they were cleaned up when she returned, she wouldn't look any closer – she was far too lazy for that.

Once more, the inhabitants of Number Four enacted their usual morning ritual. Vernon left for work, Dudley left to play with his friends, Harry went outside to complete his jobs, moaning under his breath about how it would take all day to complete the full list of chores. It wasn't long before he heard Petunia leave, and he sprang into action.

Running back into the house so that none of the neighbors could see him, he quickly resized his trunk and made his way to timeland. One quick shower later, he was standing in the potions room. He knew that he didn't want to go back to Diagon Alley as Harry Potter. That would draw too much attention. There were several options for going in disguise. He had first considered Polyjuice potion, but that would only last for one hour before needing an additional dose, and would change his size to match the person he was imitating. He wanted to buy some casual wizarding clothes, which meant that he couldn't change sizes. As a result, he had decided to use a few of the more basic disguising potions he had. A few potions later and Harry was now blue-eyed, with light brown hair, a disguise that should last for 12 hours. A baseball cap to cover the tell-tale scar, and he was ready to go.

He pocketed the trunk once more and walked back outside. He clutched a small amulet that he had found in the gear room, which had been enchanted with a notice-me-not charm (supposedly causing people to ignore you). He used it when he went shopping to prevent people from realizing that he was putting several weeks' worth of food into a relatively small backpack. Given that he hadn't been discovered yet, he assumed that it must work.

He walked down to the park, and then along one of the side streets until he found a stretch that seemed completely deserted, with large trees blocking the view from the nearby houses. He took a deep breath, and raised his wand up, giving it a little shake as recommended in the book he read.

Less than 30 seconds later, just as he was hoping, a large, bright purple bus popped into existence right in front of him. Even though he was expecting it, the boy was still startled, but quickly calmed himself.

A middle-aged man in a rather… _unusual_ purple uniform stepped out of the bus and began to speak in a completely disinterested voice.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard," he said, then added in a quiet voice, "or anyone too lazy or stupid to get a floo connection or learn to apparate." He once more forced a smile on his face, as he continued, "Just stick out your wand hand (though you obviously already know that), step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Gerald Farnshaw, and I will be your conductor this morning."

Somewhat taken aback by the rote and, at times, sarcastic greeting, Harry quickly rallied and stepped on board, trying to project confidence as he smiled at the man. "How much to the Leaky Cauldron?" he asked.

"11 sickles," the man replied, still looking as disinterested as humanly possible.

"Does it have to be exact, or can I get change for a galleon?" Harry inquired as he pulled out the small money pouch he had received at Gringotts all that time ago.

"Galleon's fine," the man said, then quickly plucked the offered coin out of Harry's hand, depositing it into a box on the wall. A small number of sickles fell out of the box onto a tray. Farnshaw grabbed the money and dropped it in Harry's hand. "Find an empty seat, and be quick about it," he ordered, then began to stare absentmindedly out of the window.

The bus was mostly empty when Harry sat down a few seats back from the front. No sooner had his butt touched the seat then the bus was off with a loud bang. Harry stared in wonder as trashcans, lightpoles, and even people seemed to leap out of the way, only to return to their original position once the bus had passed. Once more amazed at the things magic could do, Harry turned his mind back to his upcoming visit to the Alley, mentally reviewing the list of things he wanted to get done.

Just a few minutes later, the bus stopped, almost quickly enough to give Harry whiplash.

"Leaky Cauldron," came the monotone announcement from the front. Harry walked quickly to the front, stepping out of the bus, followed by a small, stooped witch with thick glasses and a cane. He walked into the pub and approached the bar. The toothless owner, Tom, was wiping the counter down with a rag.

"Excuse me, sir, can you open up the wall to the alley for me?" Harry requested, still trying to project confidence.

"Certainly, young man," Tom said with a smile. Then he frowned for a moment. "Are your parents here?"

"No," Harry replied with a smile. "Mum just dropped me off while she had to go run some errands. I'm a muggleborn, you see."

"Ah, very well then, let's get you back to the alley," Tom said, as he set the rag down and began walking to the back.

As the wall opened, Harry thanked the old man, and stepped through into the chaos of the magical world's primary shopping district.

* * *

Several hours later, a thoroughly exhausted Harry walked into Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. He sat down on one of the chairs with a sigh, then looked up at the signs announcing the various sizes and flavors available. He heard someone chuckling softly, and turned to find an old man in an apron with a small smile on his face.

"You look like you've had a long day, young man," he said.

"Yes," Harry responded. "Very long. Not quite as productive as I'd hoped, though."

"Well, then at least you can end it on a rather tasty note. Let's get you some ice-cream. What would you like?"

Harry turned his attention back to the signs. "I'll go for a cone with two scoops of strawberry, please."

The man quickly put the scoops on the cone, then studied Harry for a moment, before adding a third scoop. "Extra one is on the house. You look like you could use it, lad," he said, then handed the cone to Harry.

"Thank you very much, sir" Harry replied.

"No need for the sir. Just call me Florean. Everyone does." The now named man walked over to the front of the store, tidying up a few things here and there as he went.

"Well then, thank you very much, Florean," Harry said with a smile.

"So, what is it that you were hoping to do today?" Florean asked

Harry shrugged. "I'm a muggleborn," he began, "so I wanted to learn a little bit more about Hogwarts and magical society. I've just been wandering around the Alley, trying to just…" his voice trailed off as he tried to think of a good way to explain what he was doing. "I guess I'm just trying to get a feel for it all. Everyone is willing to give me facts about stuff, but most of it is either condescending about how lucky I am to not be stuck in the poor muggle world anymore, or just propaganda about how amazing the magical world is, and how fortunate I am to go to Hogwarts with the great Albus Dumbledore, especially in the year the Harry Potter is going to be starting."

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then turned back to Florean. "I just feel like there has to be a whole lot that I'm not being told. I mean, a decade ago, magical society was in a civil war, and now it's like everyone tries to pretend it didn't happen. I've read about Goblin rebellions in the book for my magical history class, but now they apparently run the bank! Even when I ask what Hogwarts is like, I feel like people are just giving me empty answers that sound nice, rather than a real picture of the school."

Florean chuckled. "You've certainly put a lot of thought into this." He walked over to where Harry was sitting, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "Well, as you can see, I'm not particularly busy right now," he said, waving at the empty room. "Ask a few questions. I'll give you the best answer I can."

Harry looked at him for a moment, before taking him up on his offer. "Okay. Hogwarts. What's it really like? Did you go there? Do you know who teaches there? What are the teachers like? Is it really as good of a school as everyone says? If people say it's the best school, does that mean that there are other schools? Why would there be other schools if Hogwarts is the best?"

Florean sighed. "Those are all very good questions, and I can see why many of my fellow shop keepers wouldn't necessarily want to get into those questions too much, particularly with a muggleborn student. Hogwarts is a good school, but it's not perfect. Not everyone has the opportunity to go to Hogwarts. All muggleborns go to Hogwarts, and employees of the Ministry of Magic get to send their kids there as a perk of their employment. Many old families have a certain number of spots each generation, and there are various other situations that allow a child to go to that school. For example, in my situation, my grandfather Dexter Fortescue was the headmaster many years ago, which allowed me to attend, as well as my children. My grandchildren, however, have had to go to a different school. There is the perception that Hogwarts students are all but guaranteed a good job when the graduate, which leads to some bitterness from people that didn't get to go. Most of the people you would have talked to here in the alley probably didn't have the chance to attend Hogwarts, so they might not be overly pleased to be talking about it."

Florean took a deep breath, and sat back in his chair, thinking for a moment before continuing. "To be honest with you, I'm not sure that Hogwarts is particularly deserving of its reputation. Education has always been a little bit of a hobby of mine, and some of the things I know about Hogwarts, both from my experiences and what I've heard from kids these days is a little bit concerning. History of Magic, for example, is particularly galling. For more than 2 centuries, the course at Hogwarts has been taught by a ghost who drones on in a perfect monotone, lecturing endlessly and almost exclusively about goblin rebellions."

Florean looked at Harry. "Have you ever heard the saying, 'those who do not learn their history are doomed to repeat it?'" At Harry's nod, he continued, "I can't help but feel that our society has a tendency to repeat the problems it faces because our leaders attended a school that did not bother to teach them their history. And unfortunately, Binns is not the biggest problem in my mind."

"A far greater problem, in my opinion, is the potions professor, Severus Snape. He is an exceedingly unpleasant man with little if any teaching ability whose primary goal in life seems to be making the students besides those in his house miserable. Given that potions is required for a career as a healer or an Auror… a magical policeman," he clarified at seeing Harry's confused look, "employing someone like that in such a key position can have a very detrimental affect on magical society as a whole."

Florean once more leaned back in his chair. "But the real problem, I think, lies with Albus Dumbledore. You'll see him once you get to Hogwarts. He goes out of his way to cultivate the appearance of an eccentric but harmless old man. Many people would probably describe him as being grandfatherly. But what they forget is that he wields a great deal of power in magical Britain, and he has held onto that power for years. The congenial appearance hides the wily old politician beneath the surface. He hasn't maintained that power for so long without being far more crafty and clever than most people suspect. And while, in truth, I can't say that I know the man, from what I have seen, I think he is far more deceptive than most. For example, he has spent the last decade consolidating power by suggesting, but never outright claiming, that if he had been in charge, You-know-who would never have been as successful as he was. Of course, he ignores the fact that he was the one who suggested many of the policies which lead to the ministry being shockingly ineffective in the beginning stages of the war."

"He also has managed to portray himself as Harry Potter's guide and supporter." Florean once more looked closely at Harry. "Something that I think we both know is not true," he finished.

Harry looked at the ice cream man, surprise evident on his features. Florean chuckled. "James Potter was a frequent visitor to my shop many years ago, as was Lily Evans. The colors may be different, but the shape of your face is quite familiar. And while the hat covers most of the scar, I can see just a little bit of it below the brim."

"Sorry about lying to you earlier," Harry apologized, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Florean shook his head. "Not a problem. It was quite clever of you, really. If you wanted to learn more, it would defeat the purpose to announce your identity. Now, why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself. Maybe I can help explain things better if I know where you're coming from."

So Harry explained about his life up to that point, and his experience in the Alley the last time he came (as well as he could remember, at least). Some things he obviously kept secret, such as exactly how poorly the Dursleys treated him, and about timeland, but still, for the most part, he was honest with Florean. He didn't know how long he had been talking when he finally finished, his throat slightly sore from talking so much.

Florean allowed the silence to fill the room for a few minutes before responding. "I'm guessing that's the first time you've really told your story to anyone, right?" Harry nodded, and he continued. "It's a good thing you're approaching this with your eyes wide open. You're going to need to be careful as you re-enter the wizarding world. I'm assuming you know about You-know-who?" He waited for just a brief moment for Harry's affirmative nod before continuing. "He had many followers, called Death Eaters, some of whom managed to avoid prison. They might be willing to harm or kill you as a way of getting revenge for their master."

"I found some of my parents' old notes. They were trying to identify Death Eaters that they could go after. Severus Snape was one of their suspects. Apparently, he and my mum were friends when they were younger, but he changed, and embraced the blood superiority movement as he got older."

"From what I know, I wouldn't be surprised if they were correct about that," Florean said quietly, "which makes Dumbledore's decision to hire him all the more suspicious." His voice trailed off, before he visibly shook himself out of his thoughts and continued.

"But it's not just the Death Eaters that you need to be aware of. Everyone in Magical Britain knows about you. There's books and dolls and costumes and all sorts of things celebrating the Boy Who Lived. Many people will expect you to behave just like the version of you they read about, and might even get upset with you when you don't match their expectations. The fact is, you're getting thrown into the deep end of this particular pool without any sort of explanation or training on how to handle it. There will be some that will resent you for not being exactly like they expect. There will be some that will try to take advantage of you for your fame or wealth. There will be some that will look down on you for your inexperience with magical culture and customs. And since you are very famous, everyone will always be watching."

A feeling of dread settled into the pit of Harry's stomach. On some level, he had already known these things. That was why he had spent so long in timeland, learning the material and practicing the spells he would need to know. But to hear someone else say it so plainly was difficult to hear.

Florean smiled encouragingly at Harry. "I know it's a lot to take in all at once, but I will help you as much as I can." He glanced over at the clock on the wall. "It's almost 4. Can you stay longer, or do you need to be getting home?"

Harry sighed. "I should probably head home," he said reluctantly.

"Well, you're welcome to come back any time you want. Think about what I said. Write down any questions you have, and we can discuss them the next time you stop by."

Harry stood with a smile. "Thank you, Florean. You've been a big help."

Florean shook his head dismissively. "Our society owes you and your parents a great deal, young man. I'm glad for the chance to repay even just a little bit of that debt. And don't worry about the ice cream," he added as Harry reached for his money. "It's on the house."

Thanking Florean again, Harry walked out of the store, his mind awhirl as he thought back on the conversation he had just had.


	5. Chapter 4: Train Ride to Destiny

Chapter 4: Train Ride to Destiny

A young man with sandy blond hair and dark brown eyes walked into King's Cross station and paused to look at the signs hanging from the ceiling. He wore a small backpack and pulled a large wooden trunk behind him, but most people hardly seemed to notice him at all. His clothing was fairly normal, consisting of jeans and a t-shirt with the words "Weird Sisters" on it. He casually made his way toward platform 9, stopping every so often to look at his surroundings.

When he arrived at the platform, the young man studied the four pillars between 9 and 10, then casually leaned against the third one. After a quick glance around to ensure that nobody was paying attention to him, he pushed himself backward, passing through the brick and stumbling slightly as he appeared on Platform 9¾.

Harry smiled to himself as he saw the large red train that would take him to Hogwarts. Still under the disguise potions (which should last until about 3:00) he pulled his trunk up onto the train, and found an empty compartment about 2/3 of the way back. With a swish and flick, he levitated his trunk up onto the rack above the seats, then settled in to get comfortable. Opening his backpack, he pulled out a book with the title "The Eye of the World" on the front, and began to read. Harry was only about a third of the way through, but could already see some definite similarities to his own life. He could certainly imagine how Rand, Mat and Perrin must have felt as they were whisked away from the life they had always known and thrust into a world of magic and monsters.

He wasn't a particularly fast reader, but he was thoroughly engrossed in the book, so it was a bit of a surprise when he heard a somewhat timid voice at the door.

"Excuse me," the bushy-haired girl said, somewhat hesitantly. "Can I sit here?"

"Sure," Harry said with a smile, gesturing to the empty compartment. "Plenty of room. Make yourself at home."

The girl thanked him, and slid her trunk under one of the seats, then sat down. "I'm Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, seeming more confident now that she had been welcomed in.

"Ryan Williams, it's nice to meet you as well," Harry said, suppressing any guilt at using the fake name.

"What is that you're reading?" his new acquaintance asked, her eyes fixed on the book.

Harry held it up for her to see. "Eye of the World. It's a relatively new book, came out about a year or so ago. There's a sequel out, and another one in the works, I think."

"I've never heard of it," Hermione said, sounding intrigued. "What's it about?"

As Harry struggled to find a way to sum up Myrdraal, Trollocs, Aes Sedai and dangerous cursed cities, Hermione pulled out a book of her own, which turned out to be one of the texts assigned for class. "So, do you read a lot?" Hermione asked, her voice a curious mix of hesitation and excitement.

"Quite a bit," Harry responded with a shrug. "I'm not exactly the fastest reader, but I enjoy it."

"Me, too," Hermione said, her voice much more emphatic now. "I mean, about enjoying it. I'm a pretty fast reader… Not that I'm trying to boast or anything…" she trailed off for a moment, before rallying again. "So what books have you read?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Well, I mainly read fantasy and sci-fi. I've read Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit," he paused for a moment as Hermione's eyes lit up and she quietly exclaimed "So have I!"

"I've also read the Chronicles of Prydain, The Once and Future King, and Dune. That was kind of a weird book." Harry said, thinking back.

"I've never read the Chronicles of Prydain," Hermione replied, "But I have read the other two. Have you ever read Ender's Game?" Harry shook his head. "What about any of the Riftwar Saga books by Raymund E. Feist?" Again, Harry replied negatively. "Anything by Robert Heinlein or Isaac Asimov?"

Harry thought for a moment. "I started reading Stranger in a Strange Land. I think that's by Robert Heinlein. I never finished it though. It was just a little too weird."

"Do you read any other genres besides fantasy or science fiction?" his companion asked.

Harry once more shook his head. "Just stuff for school." His social skills, though quite limited, then prompted him to ask, "What about you?"

It was obvious that this was the correct question to ask. Hermione's flashed with excitement. "Well, I'll read almost anything I can get my hands on, really. I've read all of the James Bond books, because my father has always been a big fan. I, of course, read Shakespeare, and particularly like 'A Winter's Tale'." Seeing Harry's questioning look, she explained, "it's where the name Hermione comes from. Well, actually, Hermione comes from Greek mythology, but my parents got the name from Shakespeare."

Apparently, Hermione was just getting started, however. "I've also read a number of books by Roald Dahl, as well as some historical fiction, such as Anne of Green Gables. I also enjoy reading nonfiction. I've always been fascinated to learn about other cultures, or about history."

Harry struggled to suppress his surprise. "Well, you're certainly more of a reader than me. Maybe when I'm finished with this book you could give me some suggestions to look at next." Hermione's eyes lit up at the idea.

A soft noise drew Harry's attention back to the door, which was still open. A timid, slightly chubby boy was looking in at the compartment awkwardly, then blushed when he was discovered and began to hurriedly walk away.

"Hey, wait up," Harry called, trying to make his voice sound friendly. "We've got plenty of room in here if you want to come in," he said.

Seeing the boy wavering indecisively, Harry pulled the door further open. "Come on," he said. "You can sit with us."

The chubby boy mumbled a barely audible "Thank you" and sat down.

"I'm Ryan, and this is Hermione," Harry said with a smile. He knew exactly how it felt to not have friends, so wanted to go out of his way to help the obviously uncomfortable boy across from him. "What's your name?"

"Neville. Neville Longbottom," the boy said shyly. Fortunately, neither Hermione nor Neville saw the flash of recognition in Harry's eyes when he heard the name. His mother's diary had made it clear that when he and Neville were babies, they had spent a great deal of time together. His parents and the Longbottoms were both members of a secret group called the Order of the Phoenix, lead by Dumbledore.

"Nice to meet you, Neville," Hermione said enthusiastically. "Ryan and I were talking about the books we've read. Do you read very much?"

"Not really," Neville replied, looking somewhat miserable. "I mostly spend my time working in the greenhouses at my house."

"That's cool," Harry said supportively. "So, did you grow up with magic, then? I can't imagine most non-magical people have greenhouses."

Neville nodded. "Yes, I'm a pureblood, but I'm not exactly the best at magic. Most of my family thought I didn't have magic at all, until my Great Uncle Algie dropped me out of a window and I bounced." At Harry and Hermione's horrified looks, he hurriedly explained. "He was just trying to get me to show some magic. And he got me this toad, so that's… nice." Neville's voice trailed off.

"Well, it's great that you're here then," Hermione finally said, trying hard to find the bright side of deliberate child endangerment as a method of prompting magic use.

"So, Hermione and I were both raised in the regular world. What can you tell us about the magical world?" Harry asked, more to move the conversation forward than out of any real curiosity.

Just as he finished his question, the train suddenly shuddered, and began to pull out of the station. All the occupants of the compartment looked out the window, then looked at each other. Harry was excited, Hermione was a mix of excitement and apprehension, and Neville looked like he was having a hard time keeping himself from breaking down in tears. "Well, I guess this is it. The beginning of a great new adventure," Harry said, taking a deep breath. Hermione and Neville nodded, before Hermione suddenly exclaimed, "the toad!"

The boys turned to look, and sure enough, Neville's toad had taken advantage of the distraction to make his escape. With a cry of "Trevor", Neville leaped out of his seat and began to pursue the wayward toad. It took a few minutes for him to corral the surprisingly agile amphibian, but eventually he returned to the compartment, toad in hand.

Harry opened his backpack, and took out a smaller bag, which he unzipped to reveal a large pile of odds and ends. A knife, a whistle, and many other objects greeted him. Fishing around for a few moments, he pulled out a roll of cord, and used the knife to cut off a few feet. "Here," he said, handing it to the other boy. "Tie it around him as a leash, and then tie the other end to one of the seat posts so he won't get away."

Neville thanked him, and proceeded to do so. Hermione glanced at the door. "It seems like most people have already found their seat. We could probably close the door if we wanted," she suggested.

With a quick glance at Neville to make sure he agreed, Harry stood up and shut the door.

"So, like Ryan said, neither of us know much about magic. I've read all of our assigned books, of course, but everything that I've read suggests that there's really no substitute for firsthand experience. What can you tell us about magical society as a whole? Is it very different from non-magical society? You mentioned greenhouses, do you use them to grow magical plants? What about magical animals? Do you have any of those?"

Harry wasn't sure if he should be impressed with how she managed to fit all that into a single breath, or concerned. "Might help if you let him speak a little bit," he said, smiling to take the sting out of the words. Hermione flushed, then turned back to Neville, who had gone slightly wide eyed at the string of questions.

"Well, um, I'm not sure what I can say about magical society. It's all I've ever known, so I don't really have anything to compare it to. And to be honest, my Gran doesn't really let me go out very much. I mean, I have to accompany her to formal engagements like balls or galas to represent House Longbottom, so I have to know manners and everything, but I don't really get to go out and do things like most people probably do. I just mostly stay at home and work in the greenhouses. And we do have some magical plants, but nothing really unusual, just normal stuff. And no magical animals," he finished apologetically.

Harry was about to ask about the galas, assuming that he would one day need to attend such events, when the compartment door opened, and a boy with red hair and many freckles stuck his head in the compartment. He looked carefully at each person, before shutting the door without saying a word. All three kids shared a confused look.

"Is that normal?" Hermione asked, looking at Neville expectantly.

"No. I would guess that he's looking for someone. I think that was Ron Weasley. My Gran made me learn about many of the other students that will be in classes with us. The Weasleys are a large family, all of them with red hair. They don't have a lot of money, but they are apparently big supporters of the headmaster."

"So maybe he was looking for Harry Potter," Harry said, thinking back to Florean's warning.

"I've heard of him," Hermione said excitedly. "It'll be so fascinating to go to school with the only known survivor of the killing curse." She seemed to wilt a little bit under the combined stares of Harry and Neville.

"I can't imagine that's something he'd be overly excited about being known for," Neville said quietly. "I'd imagine that people talking about how he survived the killing curse probably just reminds him that his parents didn't survive it."

Harry squirmed a little bit uncomfortably, but fortunately neither of his companions noticed. _Maybe this 'lie now, tell them who I really am later' thing isn't going to work out quite as well as I'd hoped_, he thought. Still, he appreciated what Neville said, despite his surprise at the boy's empathy.

The compartment fell into a very uncomfortable silence, as none of them knew quite what to say to get the discussion going again. Finally, Harry reached into his bag and pulled out a deck of cards.

"So, I picked this up in Diagon Alley, but I've never played it. Something called Exploding Snap? Do you know how to play that, Neville?"

"I haven't played it much, but I know how," the boy responded excitedly.

"Great, then you can teach us," Harry said, glad that they had now moved past the awkwardness. It was a little bit difficult without a table to play on, but they made do. Hermione quickly mastered the game, her obvious ability to rapidly learn the rules giving her a definite advantage, but Harry thought that his reflexes were a little bit better, and once he had a bit more practice, he would be able to do as well. For the time being, he and Neville were about equal, with the other's boy's experience negated by his overall timidity.

They'd been playing for about half an hour when the door opened once more, and a pale boy with immaculately styled hair strode into the compartment confidently, leaving two larger boys standing out in the corridor. He seemed vaguely familiar to Harry. Perhaps they had met in the Alley sometime? He couldn't be sure. The dark expression on Neville's face made it clear, however, that he and the boy knew each other.

"So, they're even letting squibs like you into Hogwarts, Longbottom? What a disgrace." He said, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Neville flushed. "I got in same as you, Malfoy."

Malfoy scoffed. "Not like that's much of an achievement with that senile fool that calls himself a headmaster. Hogwarts should be for the elite, not the riffraff like you."

Without a word, Harry stood up, and stepped toward the intruder. While before he had always been one of the smallest kids in the class, after more than a year of good food and regular exercise, he was now taller than the other boy. "I think you should leave," he said quietly, looking down into the other boy's eyes.

Malfoy quailed a little under the glare being sent his way, but rallied quickly. "Malfoy," he said, trying to appear confident as he held his hand out. "Draco Malfoy."

The way Malfoy said his name reminded Harry of the discussion he had with Hermione earlier, prompting him to reply with, "Bond. James Bond." He heard Hermione stifle a laugh behind him.

Malfoy glared at the girl, then smiled at him in what was clearly supposed to be an ingratiating manner. "Pleasure to meet you, Bond. It's quite obvious that you are a capable individual. No need for you to be spending time with squibs and mudbloods. Come with me; I'd be happy to introduce you to the right sort of people."

"I think I can figure out who the right sort are for myself, and the wrong sort" Harry replied coolly, never taking his eyes away from Malfoy. "Now, if that's all, I think you should leave."

Draco flushed angrily, but before he could say anything, Harry pulled his wand out of this back pocket. Careful not to hold it pointing towards the boy or do anything that could be considered threatening, Harry simply held it firmly in front of him, an unspoken challenge to Malfoy.

Glancing down at the wand, Malfoy glared at Harry, before taking a step back out of the compartment. "Come on, you two. No need to waste time on squibs and blood traitors." The massive boys followed their smaller leader down the hall to the next compartment.

Harry watched them go for a moment, then shut the compartment door and sat down. Neville and Hermione were staring at him with wide eyes.

"That was pretty amazing," Neville finally said.

"Who was that?" Harry asked. It was clear that the two had some sort of history.

Neville shrugged uncomfortably. "Like I said, I have to go to fancy parties and things with my Gran. Malfoy's always there. His family is one of the richest in magical Britain. He's always been an arrogant bully. I'm not very strong magically, and I'm kind of… well, you know," his voice trailed off miserably as he gestured to himself. "So, he and his goons pick on me a lot."

"That's not right!" Hermione exclaimed, but Neville just looked more miserable.

"My Gran keeps telling me I need to stand up for myself, but it's kind of tough to do when there's more of them and they're bigger than you."

"Well, now we've got a group of our own," Harry said confidently. "We won't let them get away with bullying any of us." He pretended not to see Neville's hopeful expression.

"So why did you say your name was James Bond?" Neville asked a few moments later.

Hermione laughed again. "It's from a famous book series we were talking about before you came in. He's a spy that works for Her Majesty's government, and that's how he always introduces himself." An intense look appeared on her face as she said, "Bond. James Bond" in as serious a voice as she could.

Seeing Neville's confusion, Harry continued, "The way he introduced himself just reminded me of that, so I just kind of went with it."

"Okay," their friend said slowly, obviously still completely nonplussed.

"Well, I thought it was funny," Hermione assured him.

"More exploding snap?" Harry asked, then remembered something else. He reached for his backpack. "Also, I brought some treats. Anybody want something?" he asked as he pulled out some sandwiches, candy bars and other treats.

"I've never seen candy like this," Neville said, looking curiously at a Mars Bar.

"Try it, it's good," Harry encouraged his new friend. "Right?" he asked, looking to Hermione for support.

"I actually don't have candy often, because my parents are dentists," she replied apologetically.

"Well, now's your chance," he responded quickly. Hermione looked a little bit hesitant, but in the end, accepted a few pieces of licorice.

After a few minutes of munching, they resumed playing. Time passed quickly, and they were all surprised when Harry's watch began to beep. He looked at it for a moment, before turning his attention to his friends.

"I'm not quite sure how to say this, and I apologize, but I kind of lied to you earlier," he began apprehensively. "My name isn't actually Ryan Williams. I'm Harry Potter. I wanted to meet people without everyone getting all weirded out about something I don't even remember. The first time I went to Diagon Alley, everyone practically mobbed me, so I took some disguising potions today. They should be wearing off soon."

Hermione and Neville both looked shocked, and Hermione looked a little bit uncomfortable, no doubt remembering her earlier comments, but to Harry's relief, neither appeared angry with him.

"I suppose I understand why you would want to avoid that if possible," she finally replied. "Where did you get the potions from?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again, not wanting to tell the truth about all of his parents' things he had found. "I just got them at the apothecary in Diagon," he said. Neville shot him a strange look, but fortunately didn't say anything.

A few minutes later, the once more black-haired, green eyed boy was once more engaged in intense gameplay with his friends, all concerns over his earlier deception forgotten.


	6. Chapter 5: A New World

Chapter 5: A New World

Harry lay awake in the dorm, mind racing as he thought back over everything that had happened that evening.

Hogwarts had been as beautiful and majestic as he had imagined. The view from the lake was incredible. And it was good to see Hagrid again. It was strange to think that for the large man, only a month had passed, but for Harry, who had spent 16 nights in a time compression vault, it had been well over a year.

Harry couldn't help but smile at the memory of the boat ride over. He, Hermione and Neville had shared a boat with a boy named Zacharias Smith, who wasn't exactly the most pleasant person, but it hadn't been too bad. As always, he was amazed at the things that magic could do. The boats somehow propelled themselves, and steered themselves, as well. That was interesting magic with some definite potential, once Harry learned how to mimic it.

They had been greeted at the door by Professor McGonagall. Florean's description of her had been perfect, both in terms of appearance and personality. And then came the sorting.

Harry suppressed a frown at the thought. He was, of course, pleased to be in the same house as Neville and Hermione, although truth be told, he was a little surprised that the two of them were in Gryffindor. He had expected that Neville would be in Hufflepuff and Hermione in Ravenclaw. But still, having some friends was a good thing. But he was still a little bit concerned about being a Gryffindor. It was what everyone expected of him; which carried with it some advantages, but also some disadvantages. It would be more difficult for him to get them to see him as Harry Potter, instead of the boy who lived.

Florean's descriptions of the other teachers had also been spot on, in particular Snape. Harry allowed his thoughts to linger for a moment on the man, who seemed as unpleasant as he had expected. Snape had been outright glaring at Harry during the feast. While he knew that his father and Snape had been enemies during their time here together, it seemed highly unlikely for the teacher to still be not only holding a grudge, but taking it out on his former enemy's child without some other reasoning behind it. _And the only reason why someone would hate me without even having met me is if he's a Death Eater, or at least sympathetic to their cause,_ Harry concluded with a sigh. _I guess my parents were right about that one._

In truth, being hated by a teacher was not something new. Just about everyone in Little Whinging had, for some reason, believed all the lies the Dursleys had spread about Harry. Even though he never did anything inappropriate at school, somehow his teachers had still been convinced that he was a troublemaker. Nothing he could do would change their opinions. But it was highly unlikely that the Dursley's rumors had spread this far.

And, of course, thinking about Snape inevitably lead to Dumbledore. For whatever reason, Dumbledore seemed to be actively protecting Snape, at least according to Florean. But why? What was so special about this particular death eater? And how far would Dumbledore be willing to go?

At the feast, the headmaster had appeared to be quite… odd, but Harry still remembered Florean's warning, that Dumbledore deliberately cultivated the image of an eccentric old man in order to hide the cunning mind beneath. He knew from his mother's diary that while his parents trusted Dumbledore a lot while they were in school, after they got out and began working with him in the real world, they began to question his leadership. They had been considering forming their own group when they were attacked.

Perhaps the corridor of death that Dumbledore mentioned was merely part of the man's "barmy cover", but Harry couldn't help but think that there was more to it. He couldn't help but wonder if this was something that had happened before, or if it was more just a coincidence that something so unusual is happening as soon as he gets to Hogwarts.

Sleep eventually overtook Harry, but the questions still remained.

* * *

His first class the next morning was Herbology, taught by a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout. Given all the gardening he was forced to do at the Dursleys, Harry wasn't particularly looking forward to it, unlike Neville. His friend, in fact, had informed Harry that he secretly wanted to become a Herbologist, something which his overbearing Grandmother opposed vehemently. Despite House Longbottom having been in the herbology business for centuries, she was quite insistent that he should do more with his life than just play in the dirt.

The class was as boring as Harry expected. Apparently, the majority of the plants that they would be working with could be negatively affected by wand magic, so they would be using almost entirely non-magical methods of caring for the plants. Harry was not looking forward to 5 years of potting and watering plants. But at least the Hufflepuffs, with whom the Gryffindors shared that class, were quite friendly.

Next was History of Magic, again with the Puffs. Cuthbert Binns was just as boring as Harry had heard. He was struggling to keep his eyes open after just a few minutes. _If this is what every class will be like, _he thought to himself, _I might as well bring a pillow and use the time to catch up on some sleep._ Somehow, he didn't think that Hermione would approve, however.

His first class in the afternoon was Defense Against the Dark Arts, with the Ravenclaws. Apparently, this was the class with the highest turnover for the professor. Every year, there was a new teacher; a pattern which supposedly went back decades. By now, most of the students had given up hope of having a good teacher. Most of the professors the older students told stories about seemed like absolute jokes. And unfortunately, this year's teacher, Professor Quirrell, seemed to be continuing that trend.

Quirrell was a coward, plain and simple. And even worse, he stuttered so severely that it was almost impossible to understand him at times. _Go figure, _Harry thought sarcastically. _The one class that I really need, the one that may one day save my life, and it's taught by a complete moron._ With effort, he pushed past his frustration and anger. _I guess I'll just have to learn it on my own._ It wouldn't be too difficult, after all. He had a great deal of experience learning from books thanks to his experiences in Timeland.

Last was Charms, again with the 'claws. Harry wasn't quite sure what to think there. From what Florean had said, Flitwick was one of the better teachers at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, he had started class by calling roll, and when he reached Harry's name, Flitwick had squeaked and fallen down. Harry hoped that the teacher was playing it up for laughs, but wasn't entirely sure.

Fortunately, the class itself was quite good, with Flitwick explaining the basics of wandwork, including proper movements for the wands. His parting comment that they would begin learning their first spell on Thursday left the whole class excited.

_So that's one class with some potential, and 3 classes that are just a waste of time, _Harry concluded that night as he was mentally reviewing the day. _This doesn't fill me with confidence. Apparently magic school isn't going to be quite as awesome as I had hoped. Not to mention how confusing it is to get around with all the moving staircases and trick doors and what not. _He scowled. _I really need a map._

Tuesday morning started with Transfiguration, taught by his head of house. McGonagall showed her skills by transfiguring a desk into a pig and back, then had them practice changing matches to needles (which Harry remembered from the books he read was a classic inanimate to inanimate practice). He pretended to struggle so as to avoid seeming too advanced, but by the end, successfully transfigured the match. It wasn't until he looked around at the other students that he noticed his mistake.

_Oops, probably shouldn't have done that, _he thought after seeing that no one else had managed to duplicate his success. _I guess I'm probably a little bit over prepared, given that I've already practiced everything we're supposed to learn this year. _Inside, a small war was waging, with part of him wanting to stick to the plan of just blending in and matching the other students' skills, and part of him wanting to at least receive the recognition for achievements that had been so long denied him by the Dursleys. _Best just stick with the plan, _he finally concluded. _At least for now. Don't want anybody thinking I'm the next Merlin or something._

McGonagall dismissed the class, telling them to practice the transfiguration, because anybody who still couldn't complete the exercise by end of class on Thursday would have additional homework.

After another uneventful (and in Harry's opinion, quite pointless) Herbology class, the three students sat around at lunch, discussing their plans for the rest of the day, given that they didn't have any classes scheduled Tuesday afternoons. Harry assumed that it would likely be used for completing homework later on in the year, but for now it was just free time.

Harry kind of wanted to explore the castle, but Hermione and Neville preferred something a little bit less adventurous. The finally settled on a trip to the library. Of course, given the moving staircases, trick doors, and hallways with surprisingly random dead ends, it was still quite an adventure to find their way, but eventually they were in the library. The librarian, Madam Pince, was extremely old and crochety, glaring at the kids who had the audacity to invade her sanctum, but allowed them in anyways.

Wednesday was a complete waste. First was DADA, as bad as ever, followed by History, as boring as ever. By lunchtime, Harry was about ready to scream. After lunch, they went outside for Herbology, then had a free period. _This is completely ridiculous, _he thought. _Only two good classes thus far. _

Astronomy that midnight was interesting, but he didn't really care that much about it. _And how on earth do they expect to be able to fill 5 years of mandatory classes? _He thought as he walked back to the Gryffindor dorm. He chuckled a little bit. _How on EARTH, when we're talking about an ASTRONOMY class!_ He couldn't help but hang his head in shame at the ridiculous pun he had just come up with. Apparently, he really needed some sleep.

Thursday morning was alright. Charms first, where they learned the wand lighting spell, lumos. Again, Harry pretended to have some difficulty, waiting until after Hermione had achieved it before casting the spell successfully.

"Ooh, very good, Miss Granger! And you too, Mr. Potter!" their small and excitable professor cried. "Excellent work, both of you. Now let's see if you can make some variations in the light you're producing!"

At seeing their confused expressions, Flitwick explained, "One of the greatest things about charms is how incredibly flexible they are. With the exact same incantation, you can produce bright light, or dim light. You can change the color of the light produced. True mastery in charms comes from focusing on what you want to have happen, rather than just accepting the standard result from any given spell," he said as a demonstrated by using the lumos charm to produce a bright green light that grew from barely visible to almost blinding.

It was an idea that Harry found intriguing, but sadly, he didn't have any great success at that point. He could adjust the brightness slightly, but that was about it. Hermione wasn't much more successful, managing to give the light a slight yellow cast, rather than the pure white she had started with, but far from the dramatic example Flitwick had shown them. Still, at least they accomplished the task for the day. Several of the Ravenclaws in the class were not pleased at their success, however.

Next was transfiguration. Hermione had clearly been practicing and turned her match to a needle almost immediately. Harry pretended to struggle a little bit, as though he couldn't quite remember how he did it before, but did the spell correctly after a few minutes. Four other students, all Ravenclaws, managed to do the spell before class ended.

As with charms, McGongall suggested they use the rest of the time to practice making the transfigurations more ornate, with slight variations. This was quite a bit easier for Harry. He had long ago realized that the key to successfully transfiguring objects was visualization. He spent the next half hour working on increasingly more complicated transfigurations, with his final product being a small sword with an ornate handle.

The majority of the class was frustrated to have a large amount of extra homework, while Harry and the others who successfully transfigured the matches only had to write a relatively short essay (8 inches) due in 1 week. McGonagall informed the class that they would continue this transfiguration next week and warned them that those who could not achieve an adequate transfiguration by that time would have extra homework and a lower grade.

Right after lunch was another history class. By then, Harry was considering bringing a pillow and sleeping, but Hermione's stern glare when he half-jokingly suggested this convinced him not to (for now). As the ghost professor's voice filled the classroom in dull monotone, he almost fell asleep anyways, but just barely managed to stay awake.

The Gryffindors had a free period after that. Harry and his friends decided to take advantage of the time to go to the library and work and their homework. They didn't have much to do, but they all agreed that it would be best to do the work now, rather than saving it for later. Hermione, of course, was the most emphatic proponent of this view, with Neville and Harry trudging along a little more apathetically. It didn't take too long to get the written work done. Hermione seemed dismayed that Harry only chose to revise his essays once, but Harry felt that was sufficient. It was when they began to practice the actual spells that they ran into some trouble.

"You just, kind of, picture the light in your head, wave the wand, and say 'lumos'", Harry tried to explain, thinking through how he cast the spell.

For about the 10th time, Neville waved the wand in the now familiar pattern, and uttered the incantation with perfect pronunciation, but the result was no different than the times before. All three students stared at the wand tip, which still stubbornly refused to glow.

Neville sighed. "I guess I am a squib," he uttered dejectedly as he lowered his wand.

"No, you're not," Hermione responded firmly. "You've done magic before. You told us about it. Maybe it just takes some time for different people to get used to using magic consciously."

"She's right, Nev," Harry added encouragingly. "You'll get it. Remember, you were able to change the match during Transfiguration. No squib could do that."

"I barely changed it at all. Even Weasley got more of a change than I did." His soft voice, almost like a whisper, was at odds with the surprisingly firm look he gave his friend.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step," Hermione countered. "Everyone starts somewhere. You just keep on going and don't ever give up."

Neville shook his head slowly. "Well, I'm not going to be going on any long journeys right now. Let's go to dinner. I'll work on it later tonight."

Friday morning was Potions, which Harry had been both dreading and anticipating all week.

"Given how much he glares at me in the Great Hall, I'm kind of curious what he'll be like in class," Harry told his friends as they walked down into the dungeons.

"I'm sure he hasn't been glaring at you," Hermione replied in an officious voice.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know of any better word to describe it. You just haven't noticed." Their discussion trailed off as they saw other people standing at the door. A few wore the green trim on their robes. Harry didn't say anything, but did his best to observe the Slytherins without being noticed.

While he had several classes with both the 'puffs and the 'claws, this was the first time that they would be paired with the Slytherins. Harry wasn't sure if this was deliberate or not. After all, by all accounts, the two houses got on like oil and water. Or perhaps, oil and fire would be a better comparison. _But still, they can't all be ponces like Malfoy,_ he reminded himself.

More people gathered in the hallway, and just as Harry was wondering if he should check to see if the door was locked, it swung open, hitting the wall with a loud thud. Severus Snape strode through the entrance, startling the students who hadn't even known he was there. The students filed into the classroom quietly, finding seats quickly. Harry pulled a quill and some parchment out of his bag, but his mind was still focused on the teacher at the front of the room. So many questions remained. And as this was his first real interaction with the man, now he would finally have some answers.

Snape's voice somehow carried throughout the room despite it being little more than a whisper. Everyone was on the edge of their seats as they listened to him give a short introduction to the class. Harry barely managed to repress a scoff as Snape finished with a backhanded insult claiming that if they didn't learn, then it was their fault, not his.

Evidently, he didn't do as well at hiding his opinions as he thought. "Potter," the dour professor suddenly cried. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Mind racing, as much from the suddenness of the question as from the question itself, Harry thought back on the potions he had learned about over the summer. He knew it was familiar… _Draught of Living Death,_ he realized. _Why is he asking about that?_ Harry tried to ignore the feeling of the emergency kit in his pocket where he had several vials of said potion, one of a number of potions he kept on hand at all times.

"Uh, I think it was something about a sleeping potion," he said, not wanting to admit how familiar he was with the powerful substance.

Snape smirked. "Clearly fame isn't everything. It is not any mere sleeping potion, but in fact, the Draught of Living Death, the most powerful known." He looked coldly at the student in front of him. Harry did his best to avoid glaring back. "Let's try again," the teacher finally said. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry glanced around the room. "I don't see any sort of first aid or emergency kit, so I would assume that they must be in the cabinets along the wall."

Snape rolled his eyes. "A simple answer for a simple student. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat."

"With respect, professor," Harry interjected. "You didn't ask me where they come from, you asked where I would look if I was told to find one. A bezoar is used primarily as an antidote for a wide range of poisons. If you asked me to find one, someone is probably dying. I highly doubt I would be expected to go find a goat in such a circumstance."

"5 points off for your cheek, Potter." Snape's eyes glittered like obsidian. Harry gazed levelly at the professor, but said nothing more.

"One last try, Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Ignoring Hermione, who by this time was standing up with her arm straight in the air, Harry responded calmly, "As I understand it, they refer to the same plant, technically called aconite."

Snape scoffed. "I didn't ask you for what they have in common, I asked you for the difference between them. Monkshood typically refers to the stem and leaves of the aconite plant, while wolfsbane refers to the roots. Despite coming from the same plant, they have very different magical properties. Confusing the two will likely cause your potion to kill the person you are trying to help." His face twisted subtly into a slightly cruel smile. "Not that I have much hope for your potions regardless, Potter."

With a final remark of, "Instructions are on the board," Snape began to wander throughout the classroom, watching as the students began work on the boil cure potion. Harry and Neville worked together. Harry had practiced this simple potion in Timeland, so he wasn't too concerned, however, he quickly realized that working with a partner was a little more difficult than it would first seem.

As skilled as Neville was at herbology, that clearly didn't transfer over to Potions. Or perhaps it was the large, bat-like professor who swooped up and down the aisles of the classroom, glaring at any student who happened to catch his eye. Neville was nearly trembling anytime Snape came close, and several times, Harry had to stop his friend from putting in the wrong ingredient at the wrong time.

"No, no, we've got to take the cauldron off the fire before putting in the quills," Harry said quickly as he just barely managed to stop Neville from making another mistake.

"Potter! There is no need for talking. That's five points from Gryffindor," Snape called from across the room.

Harry suppressed a desire to point out the quiet conversations taking place around the room, particularly on the side wearing green trim, but eventually turned back to the task at hand. He had more than enough experience at reining in his anger from his time at the Dursleys.

By the end, their potion was barely passable. Quite a bit more… sludgy… than it should be, and with some lumps, but better the efforts of some of the other partnerships in the room. Not that Snape was willing to acknowledge that.

Harry again tamped down on his anger as Snape insulted their efforts, clearly pleased by their failure. He quickly packed his equipment and walked out of the room, waiting until they were some distance away before turning to Hermione.

"You still want to say he wasn't glaring at me?" he asked his female friend, who just looked uncomfortable. He thought for a moment, then turned away, heading to a staircase that would lead him away from the Great Hall. "I'll see you at lunch," he said quickly as he left.

"Where are you going?" Neville called.

"McGonagall. I doubt it will do much, but I should make a formal complaint about Snape's behavior."

Any response was lost as Harry made his way quickly to his head of house's office. _Looks like Mum and Dad were right,_ he thought. _Snape's probably a Death Eater._ Despite his irritation at how he was treated, though, he couldn't help but wonder if it was better that he hadn't produced a quality potion. After all, he knew the power of potions.

_If Snape underestimates my true skills, that may be a good thing in the long run_, he thought grimly.


	7. Chapter 6: A Nighttime Excursion

Chapter 6: A Nighttime Excursion

"Harry, mate, that was awesome. You sure showed that slimy snake!" Ron's voice, thick with excitement, startled Harry out of his reverie as he walked into the Gryffindor common room.

"Yeah, well, he had it coming," Harry said, unable to come up with any better response. He looked around. "Is Neville back yet?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, he's still in the infirmary," she replied.

"Still? I thought magical healing was pretty fast." Harry frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, we've got a while before we need to go to dinner. I'm going to go see him." Ignoring Ron's offer of a chess game, Harry walked back out of the room and began making his way to the first floor, where the infirmary was located.

He didn't pass anybody as he walked, for which he was grateful. He had a lot on his mind.

It's not that he necessarily objected to being put on the Quidditch team. He enjoyed flying, and the little practice he had at seeking in Timeland had been fun. But he didn't want people to think that he was getting special treatment because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. And what McGonagall had said about bending the rule about first years and brooms smacked of favoritism.

He suppressed a scowl at the thought of his head of house. Of course, his complaint against Snape hadn't accomplished anything. And yet she felt she had the right to decide that he would be on the Quidditch team without even asking him. It just… rubbed him the wrong way. He'd heard some of the older students make comments suggesting that McGonagall was just a stern-faced mouthpiece for whatever Dumbledore said, never willing to stand up for the students against Snape, who was, Harry had learned, legendary for his ill-treatment of the Gryffindors. Apparently, she was willing to stand up for the students when it was something that she wanted, but when it came to the student's education, she just didn't care enough.

Still, it might be nice to be on the Quidditch team. Harry was already more than a year older than he should be thanks to the nights he had spent in Timeland. And while he didn't use it nearly as much anymore (save for the occasional evening when he needed to get his homework done quickly without any interruptions), he had no intentions of ignoring such a useful resource completely. Which meant that he would continue to get older than the other students in his year.

_Wouldn't hurt __to get to know some of the older students a little better, _he thought._ And the Quidditch team is as good a place to start as any._

He focused back on the present as he walked through the tall doors into the hospital wing. In some respects, it was a little bit… concerning… that a school with less than 300 students needed to have such a large area devoted to medical needs, particularly given the speed and efficacy of magical healing, but Harry chose not to think about it much. Spying his friend sitting on one of the adjustable beds at the far side of the room, he made his way over quickly, pulling the Remembrall out as he walked.

"Hey Nev," he called cheerfully. "Found this. Thought you might want it back," he said with a smile as he handed the ball over to his friend.

"Thanks," Neville muttered. He grabbed hold of the ball, and almost sighed as it turned red. "Of course," he groaned dejectedly as he stared at the glowing ball. "Fat lot of good you are."

"Well, that's a bit harsh. I mean, I brought your ball back and everything!" Harry said in mock indignation.

"Not you," his friend replied softly. "Me."

Stunned, Harry took a moment to respond. "Neville, just… just because things aren't…" he trailed off, trying to find the right words.

"I'm pathetic," Neville exclaimed, his voice thick with despair. "I'm fat. I can't do magic. I can't even ride a broom right. My cousins are right. I'm a disgrace to the Longbottom name."

A fierce flash of anger rose up in Harry. "No," he said firmly. "No way. You are my friend, Neville, and nobody gets to insult my friend. Not even you."

Neville looked up at Harry, startled, but Harry just glared at his friend. "First off, I don't believe that you can't do magic. You can. You may not be the best, but nobody is good at everything. I'm sure that you will figure out what is wrong and become a splendid wizard. But even if you don't - even if you never manage to cast a spell, that doesn't make you a disgrace. There are plenty of amazing people that don't have magic at all. You choose what kind of a person you want to be. And you do whatever it takes to be that kind of person. Forget what everybody else says. You're a good person. That's the most important thing."

Neville's eyes were suspiciously moist. Harry had a suspicion that may have been the first time someone expressed approval of him. He knew that feeling well enough. After all, how many times had the Dursleys told him he was just a waste of space? He still remembered how good it had felt when Florean had complimented him on having the courage to come to Diagon Alley on his own, and being clever enough to disguise himself. Small compliments, but when all one has ever heard is insults, even the small compliments can mean a great deal.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Harry finally said. The boys froze as someone pointedly cleared her throat behind them. They turned to discover the school mediwitch, Madam Pomfrey, gazing at them, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.

"Trying to dismiss my patient, Mr. Potter?" She asked with a stern expression on her face. She wasn't much taller than either of the boys despite their young age, and yet she seemed to somehow loom over them all the same. Both boys gaped, their mouths opening and shutting noiselessly. She turned her attention to the boy on the bed. "Mr. Longbottom. While I have no particular objection to Mr. Potter's suggestion, I do need to ensure that you are completely healed. Is there any residual pain?"

Neville responded with a quick head shake. "N-no, ma'am," he said with a slight stutter.

"Hmm," the mediwitch said, still studying her patient carefully. "Hold out your hand."

Neville followed her instructions, twisting his wrist this way and that. Finally, it seemed that the matron had exhausted all possible tests.

"Very well, you may leave. But you will be careful, and report back here immediately if you feel any sort of discomfort in the wrist. Sometimes a person's magic can resist healing, and you certainly have more magic than many your age," she finished, giving Neville a firm look.

Harry looked at the mediwitch quizzically, wondering just how much of their conversation she had heard, but in the end, decided not to ask. Instead, he gave his friend a cheerful pat on the shoulder. "Let's get some food. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

After leaving the hospital wing, Harry glanced around to make sure nobody could overhear him. "You know, if you want, I might be able to help you a little bit if you wanted to, umm, lose some weight. I used to be really scrawny until I bought some books about healthy eating and exercise. It takes dedication, but it works. I get up early most mornings to exercise. You could join me if you want." Neville's excited reply made Harry glad he had made the suggestion, despite the slightly awkward topic.

They passed the remainder of the trip to the Great Hall in silence, both deep in their own thoughts. Hermione's excited cry when they entered the Great Hall came as a bit of a surprise to both.

After reassuring Hermione that he was fine, Neville finally managed to sit down at the table, ignoring Ron's somewhat insensitive attempt to condole him for the accident during flying lessons. Harry shot the redhead a glare, but he either didn't notice, or didn't care. Truth be told, he was getting a little bit frustrated with Weasley, who seemed to have made it his mission in life to be best friends with Harry. Harry was still suspicious as to his motives, remembering the other boy's behavior on the train. However, Harry had resolved to try to have a good relationship with all the boys in his dorm, so he was willing to put up with a bit of irritation every now and then. Even if all Ron ever wanted to do was play chess (something Harry was certainly not good at, to Ron's not-so-hidden glee).

Harry and Neville had arrived just a little bit later than the others, so they were still eating when Hermione had finished, but she waited patiently as the boys finished. Ron, of course, was still going strong when his twin brothers came over, each putting an arm around Harry's shoulder as they sat down on either side, forcing Neville to scoot down a little bit to make room.

"Mr. Potter," the twin on Harry's left began.

"It has come to our attention," the other continued,

"That you have joined the ranks of the truly noble,"

"Most dedicated and talented,"

"Not to mention attractive,"

"Gryffindor Quidditch Team," the right twin finished.

"Uhh, yeah," Harry said, still slightly confused. It seems that each one managed to start talking while he was looking at the other, and by the time he had turned to look at the speaker, they had switched roles once again. The other three first years gaped in shock.

"Blimey, Harry. You didn't tell us that!" Ron exclaimed. "You must be the youngest house player in years!"

"Keep it quiet," Harry hissed. "Wood doesn't want anybody to know until game day."

"Not much chance of that," the left twin said. "Our first match is against Slytherin. There's no way Snape will keep quiet about anything that might possibly give us an advantage."

"I can believe that," Harry muttered, before he realized what the older boy had said. "Wait, our first match?"

"Of course! We're on the team, too. We're the beaters."

"Remember what we said? Noble, dedicated, talented and attractive? Is there anybody that fits such a description more than us?" the other boy said grandiosely. Harry could hear Hermione struggle to suppress a scoff. The Weasley twins' exploits as pranksters were well known.

"I tell you, we're going to win the cup for sure this year. Haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant."

"Well, I'll certainly do my best," Harry reassured them.

"Anyway, we've got to go. We're meeting Lee, but we wanted to congratulate our newest teammate."

As the twins strode out of the hall, Harry turned to the others. "Who's Charlie?"

Ron quickly finished chewing the large piece of steak he'd crammed into his mouth, swallowing deeply. "My older brother, Charlie. He used to be the seeker."

"Oh, is Quidditch a big thing in the Weasley family?" Hermione asked, sounding surprisingly interested.

"Of course!" The redhead replied. "Quidditch is amazing. We all play. Well, not Percy, obviously, because he doesn't like to have fun. And Ginny, because she's a girl." Harry suppressed a wince at Hermione's furious expression, but Ron didn't seem to notice. "Bill didn't ever play on the house team, I don't think, but he joins in when we just play for fun at home. Mum doesn't play. To be honest, I don't even know if she can fly, but Dad joins in every once in a while, usually when we…"

Harry ignored the rest of Ron's comments, his attention drifting over to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy sat, glaring at him. Soon enough, Harry and the others were ready to head back to the common room (even Ron, who was apparently willing to forego extra food in favor of hanging out with Harry). They had scarcely set foot outside of the great hall when a familiar but certainly unwelcome voice stopped them.

"Last meal, Potter? When are you getting on the train to go back to the muggles?" Draco asked, a smirk on his face. Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him, doing their best to look menacing.

"June or July, I think," Harry said flippantly. "I can't remember for sure when school ends," he finished with a smile, then turned and began to walk away.

Draco scowled. "Think you're so clever, do you, Potter? I can take you."

"Oh, please. You looked like you were about to wet your pants up there," Harry said with a chuckle.

Malfoy flushed, his face twisting, whether from fury or embarrassment, Harry didn't know. "I'll take you anytime on my own. Tonight. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact." His expression turned back to an arrogant smirk. "What's the matter, don't know what a wizard's duel is?"

"Of course he does," Ron replied angrily. "I'm his second. Who's yours?"

"No, he's not my second," Harry interjected, glaring at the redhead next to him. "He does not speak for me." He turned his attention back to the blonde ponce. "If you want to duel, we will speak to Professor Flitwick, the former dueling champion."

Malfoy looked a little uncertain, but continued on nonetheless. "What, are you going to hide behind a professor's robes? I'll be in the trophy room at midnight. If you're not too much of a coward, I'll see you there."

Harry watched as the Slytherins turned and walked away quickly, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Harry, you can't possibly…" Hermione began, before being cut off.

"Of course I'm not going, Hermione," Harry said.

"What! But, you have to!" Ron cried. "You can't let people think you're a coward!"

The other three Gryffindors all glared at him. "First off, I never agreed to a fight. If you want to go fight him, that's your choice, but it's not my job. And second, there's no guarantee he'll even be there. It could just as easily be a trap to get me in trouble."

Harry could see the understanding dawn on Ron's face. "That would be just like a slimy snake like him," the redhead agreed.

Harry nodded, then his expression turned serious. "And Weasley, don't ever try to accept something on my behalf ever again, is that clear?" Harry's voice was cold and hard. Ron swallowed nervously, nodding his head in agreement.

* * *

Harry sat on the couch in the common room shortly before midnight. It was empty, not surprising given that the students all had class in the morning. He looked at the door, thinking to himself. Finally, he stood, and walked out into the hall. He had a task he had been meaning to accomplish, and maybe he could blame Malfoy if he got caught. He heard the portrait shut behind him, and glanced back, but was surprised to see that the frame was empty. Apparently, the Fat Lady had gone to visit one of the other portraits.

_That's inconvenient,_ Harry thought. _What if someone really needed to get into the dormitory for some reason?_ He eventually decided that it didn't matter for him at this time, but made a mental note to find a way in and out of the tower besides the main entrance.

After several weeks in the castle, he was quite familiar with the layout, even though it seemed the builders had gone out of their way to make it as confusing as possible. Moving staircases, trick doors, and shifting hallways made navigating through the school a nightmare. Harry walked slowly through the deserted hallways, listening carefully for any sign that he had been discovered. According to some of his mother's notes, his father and his friends had made a very convenient map that showed not only all of the hallways in the school, but the location of each person as well. His mother had been trying to replicate the effect to increase security on key places such as Diagon Alley, but hadn't had much luck. Apparently, there was some sort of magic in Hogwarts that James Potter had managed to access more or less by accident. The map had been confiscated by Filch in their final year, meaning that Lily had not had the chance to study it. Harry had long ago decided to at least attempt to un-confiscate it.

Harry made his way down to the trophy room, wanting to check and see just in case Malfoy had shown up. He was utterly unsurprised, however, when he heard Filch's wheezing, muttering about students lurking in the corners.

Harry quickly, yet quietly, retreated, not wanting to be detected by the disagreeable caretaker, or his equally cantankerous cat. Once he was a safe distance away, he began once more walking calmly through the corridors, mentally cataloguing what he saw. Despite spending several weeks in Hogwarts already, there was still a great deal to see. After all, he took the same paths to his classes, seeing the same sights each time. Now it was interesting to take a stroll off the beaten path, as it were, and see what else was there.

He spotted a large, black cabinet, which he recognized from his mother's notes. A vanishing cabinet. Most likely unpaired, but it was difficult to know that for certain. His mother had wanted to study it, for she had been hesitant to do anything that might ruin the only paired vanishing cabinets she had access to. Figuring out how to make vanishing cabinets (an extremely rare and expensive creation) would have been incredibly beneficial. Harry gazed at the object for some time before continuing his wanderings. It wasn't like he knew enough to figure out how they worked.

A soft noise coming from a corridor ahead and to the right drew his attention. He looked around quickly, but didn't see anywhere to hide, so quickly retreated back the way he had come, turning into one of the side hallways. He pressed himself up against the wall, straining his ears for any indication that he was being followed. He let out a soft sigh when he didn't hear anything, then turned his head to look down the hall he had just entered.

He had to cover his mouth and bite down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming. There, floating lazily in the air just a few feet from his head, was Peeves, a delighted and wicked smile on his face.

"Tut, tut, tut. Ickle Firstie out of bed. Whatever shall I do?" The poltergeist said in his thin voice.

Harry struggled to stop his racing heart, taking a few deep breaths before he responded. "Hello, Peeves. I was looking for you."

"Looking for Peevesie? Why?" The poltergeist floated even closer, still staring into Harry's eyes. "What does Potty want with Peevesie?"

"I'd like to make a deal with you," Harry said, trying to sound far more confident than he felt. "I understand that my father and his friends had an arrangement with you. You didn't prank them or tell the teachers about their nighttime activities, and they provided you with certain… items… that may be difficult for you to acquire."

Peeves grin widened impossibly on his inhuman face. "Peevesie remembers. Still, maybe I should tell Filch about the naughty firstie. It's for your own good, you know," he finished piously. His smile turned cruel once more. "But maybe, I could make a deal. What sort of items does Potty have that he thinks might interest me?"

Harry swallowed deeply before beginning to explain some of the items he had specifically purchased for this purpose during one of his trips to Diagon. In the end, it took several cartons of dungbombs, some magical fireworks, a few doses of laxative, two potions that would turn a person's hair bright green for a week, and a bag of enchanted centipedes to buy the poltergeist's cooperation, but Harry still felt it was worth it. He promised to supply a similar amount at the start of each year to continue the arrangement.

Business concluded, Harry decided to go back to the dorm, having had plenty of excitement for one night. But as he walked to the stair, he had a thought. He glanced down the hallway leading to the forbidden corridor. Pausing once more to listen carefully for any indication that he had been discovered, he walked quietly into the banned hallway.

There were three doors on each side of the corridor, and one right at the end. With his wand out, Harry carefully made his way down the hall. While most of the hallways had windows to the outside that provided some illumination, this part of the castle was almost pitch black, leaving Harry wishing he had some sort of light. He didn't dare to use his wand for fear of being detected. All of the doors were unlocked, leading into empty classrooms, except for the very last one. Pressing his ear up against the door, Harry could hear some sort of noise, sounding almost like breathing.

Deciding that it would not be wise to explore any further, he returned to Gryffindor tower, and was pleased to see the Fat Lady in her portrait. She gave him a stern, scolding look, but thankfully didn't say anything, instead opening silently after Harry gave the password.

Malfoy's glares at him the next morning were a pleasant treat despite his exhaustion, but Harry was careful not to give any indication that he had done anything wrong.


	8. 7: Bonding Over Near Death Experiences

Chapter 7: Bonding Over Near Death Experiences

Harry groaned as he lifted his arms, twisting this way and that as he stretched. With a satisfied sigh, he turned his attention back to the parchment in front of him. With one last glance to make sure that his name was on it and there were no glaring errors, he carefully tore the essay off from the roll and placed it into his bag. He looked up, only to see Hermione staring at him incredulously.

"Was that your herbology essay?" she asked, her voice nearly approaching what Harry might describe as 'shrill'.

"Yeah," he replied, unconcerned.

"The herbology essay that you just started work on half an hour ago?" his friend pressed.

Harry shrugged. "Yup, that's the one."

Without even asking, Hermione grabbed his bag and pulled out the essay. Harry just rolled his eyes, a quick glance at Neville showing that the other boy was thinking the same thing. Hermione always got like this anytime she felt Harry wasn't putting enough effort into his homework. He tried to ignore it, but it still irritated him at times.

It took less than a minute for Hermione to judge his efforts unsatisfactory. "There's at least 4 spelling or grammar errors that I can see, and you didn't mention the need to ensure an adequate supply of magical fertilizer during the first three weeks of the Moly's dormant phase, because that has a severe impact on how quickly it grows after the waning gibbous moon. Given that Professor Sprout spent at least five minutes on that very subject, I imagine that she will expect to see it in our essays."

"And yet," Harry replied as he snatched the parchment out of her hands, "it's good enough for me. I'm not going to get an 'O' on it, but that's just fine. No offense to Neville," he said with a nod to his other friend, "but I really don't care about herbology. As long as I pass the class, that's good enough for me."

Hermione glared at him. "You seem to be saying that about a great many classes these days. This isn't just about your grade in a specific class. Getting good grades demonstrates for potential employers that you are willing to work hard, even if it's something that you're not particularly interested in."

"Well, I'll put more effort into things as we get older, but really, from what I understand, the scores on our OWLs and NEWTs are far more important," Harry responded, ignoring the implied criticism.

He stood up and walked over to the library where he knew several Defense Against the Dark Arts books were located. Unfortunately, there was a rather small selection to choose from. He suspected that most of the books on that subject were in the restricted section but didn't really have a way to find out. Grabbing one particular book, he made his way back to the table where his friends were waiting.

He had to suppress a little bit of a smile when he saw that Neville's essay was at least as long as Hermione's. In most subjects, this would certainly not be the case, but Neville had a near encyclopedic knowledge of every plant they had studied thus far, and plenty more, beside. Rarely a week went by without Professor Sprout praising his incredible aptitude for the subject, something which seemed to embarrass and please the chubby boy at the same time.

As he sat down, Harry heard Hermione give a small huff as she noticed the book he was reading, but he didn't care. Instead, he pulled a notebook out of his bag, and flipped to the section where he had been taking notes on combat spells he would like to learn. He needed to be prepared if Malfoy ever challenged him to a duel for real, or if anyone attacked him.

Flipping open to the 'spells' section, he picked up where he had left off, mentally sighing in irritation that this book, like a number of others, was held for reference only, and could not be checked out. It was such a useful one.

He deliberately ignored Hermione's pointed looks as he carefully took notes on the stunning spell. He didn't have much opportunity to practice, so he wanted to understand the theory very well. After all, he couldn't exactly ask to cast a potentially harmful spell on one of his friends, especially one that came with a warning that overpowering the spell or subjecting one person to multiple stunners in a very short time frame could cause damage to the heart, especially in people who were very young or very old. And this was one of the tamer spells he was learning!

The majority of the spells on his list were not terribly harmful, such as the leg locker jinx and the knockback jinx. Oh, it was possibly to break a bone if someone was hit by an overpowered knockback jinx and landed wrong, but the magical effect was not in any way devastating. On the other hand, a few of the other spells he had made note of were far less benign. _Bombarda_ created a small explosion wherever it hit. The severing charm, _diffindo_, was not specifically intended for living targets, but could do some damage all the same, especially when overpowered. And Harry had another list that he made sure Hermione would never see, with spells like bone breaking and bone exploding curses. He hadn't tried any of these spells yet, but he had long ago decided that if it ever came down to a question of his life or an attacker's, he wasn't going to let his parents' sacrifice go to waste.

Another half hour passed, with all three Gryffindors working diligently on their chosen tasks. Hermione had finished her herbology essay, and was now working on one for charms Flitwick had assigned just that day _(Describe the seventeen basic wand movements, and explain how they have shaped modern spell casting)_. With Quidditch practice beginning in just 15 minutes, Harry packed up his supplies, returned the book to the shelf, and made his way out of the library, never noticing how Hermione's eyes followed him the whole way, a resolute expression on her face.

* * *

Just under three hours later, a very stiff and sore Harry Potter made his way back to Gryffindor tower, mentally cursing the fact that his house was located on the seventh floor, and that he wasn't allowed to simply fly up there. While Oliver had great confidence in his ability to catch the snitch, the captain had also expressed concern with his ability to dodge the bludgers. That meant that 'practice' had consisted of the Weasley twins pelting him non-stop with the heavy iron balls. A few more practices like that and he fully expected that his body would be covered in one gigantic bruise.

He had almost made it to the portrait when a voice called out, "Mr. Potter!"

He turned to find his head of house making her way towards him, a somewhat irritated expression on her face.

Harry looked at her for a moment, waiting for her to say something. "Can I help you, Professor?" he inquired when no response was forthcoming.

"I need to speak with you in my office," came the reply.

With one last forlorn glance at the portrait, and more importantly, the hot shower that awaited him, he followed the professor through the hall and down the staircase to her office, thinking of the utter absurdity of having a head of house whose office was several minutes away from the dormitory of her charges.

When they arrived at the office, Professor McGonagall held the door open for him, then pointed to a stiff, wooden seat on the near side of the desk. She then sat quickly in a chair opposite him, which looked only marginally more comfortable.

Taking a moment to study him closely, she pressed her fingertips together, her mouth tightening as she did. "Mr. Potter. I have asked you here today because I am concerned." She paused for a moment, continuing to peer at him intently.

Harry suppressed a spike of irritation. "With respect, professor, I am tired and sore after a long practice. It would greatly help if you were to tell me what you are concerned about."

The professor's mouth tightened even more. "Mr. Potter, saying 'with respect' and then following it up with a statement that is not in any way respectful is entirely contradictory. However, I will overlook your less than acceptable words this once."

She straightened a little bit more, then fixed Harry with a firm expression, almost a glare, but he was too tired to care. "What I am concerned about is your scholastic performance here at Hogwarts."

Refusing to be intimidated, Harry kept his voice level. "Am I failing any classes?"

"Several of the professors have noted that you are not putting forth your full effort, especially in the homework assigned," the teacher carefully responded.

Harry took a moment to think about that. "Am I failing any classes?" he asked again.

McGonagall's stern expression was most definitely a glare, now. "You are not failing classes, but this is concerning."

Harry frowned. "Are my grades the lowest in Gryffindor?" He didn't give the professor a chance to respond before he answered his own question. "I highly doubt it. I know that Ron spends hours every day goofing around or playing chess with anybody he can annoy into playing with him. Seamus isn't any more focused. And I'll eat my socks if either Parvati or Lavender spend a tenth of their free time working on homework rather than gossiping about boys or discussing fashion. Have you had a meeting with any of them?"

McGonagall's face was now pure ice. "I am not going to be drawn into a discussion of the performance of other students. Such matters are confidential, and for good reason. We are here today to talk about your choices. I cannot help but wonder what your parents would think if they were to find that their son was squandering his opportunities here."

Fire coursed through his veins. The same fire that burned every time the Dursleys had talked about his parents being worthless drunks. _How dare she_, he thought. And to be honest, he didn't even know which 'she' he was referring to. It was quite obvious, after all, who had brought this to the professor's attention. With skill born of frequent practice, Harry pushed the rage he felt down, suppressing it in an icy cold.

"If I am not failing any of my classes, I do not see what concern it is of yours. I make sure to fulfill the requirements in all my classes, but I have chosen to focus my time elsewhere. Part of my time is spent on the Quidditch team, which you forced me to join and then threatened to punish me if my performance was not up to your expectations. Part of my time is spent learning about Defense Against the Dark Arts, which is perhaps the most important class of all, despite the absolute buffoon you have teaching us. I cannot help but wonder if my parents would still be alive today if they had spent less time writing meaningless essays on herbs and constellations and more time on practical skills that could one day save their lives."

McGonagall's expression softened, but Harry didn't let up. "If that is all you wanted to discuss, I would very much like to shower and go to sleep. May I be excused?"

She looked like she wanted to say something more, but the professor finally relented. "Yes, you may be excused."

Without a backward glance, Harry stood and walked out of the room, not seeing the look of remorse that crossed the strict teacher's face.

By the time he reached the dorm, Harry felt that he was about to explode. He couldn't quite explain why, but the idea that a professor would try to use his parents' memory to get him to do what they wanted infuriated him. Especially if it was something that he knew his parents wouldn't agree with. His mother's diary in later years had commented on the utter stupidity of the Hogwarts curriculum, and how little it did to prepare them for real life. And his father was a prankster. He certainly wouldn't have felt the need to pressure his son to spend hours on a subject that had no real impact on his life. No, McGonagall was not truly speaking for them. She was just using them.

"Savannah," he snarled as he neared the portrait, which swung open at the password.

Hermione was standing there expectantly. The moment their eyes made contact, she flinched. Harry didn't care. He crossed the room in just a few paces, completely disregarding the stares of the other students.

"Let's get something straight, here, Hermione. You are not my mother. You are not my boss. It is none of your concern how well I do in school. If you can't accept that, we don't have to be friends any more. But you will mind your own business."

"I was just trying to help," Hermione explained weakly. "You could do much better if you put more time into your homework. I'm just looking out for you."

"Well, stop," he growled as he stormed up the stairs to the 1st year boys' dormitory, ignoring the whispers that now filled the room he just left.

* * *

A little more than a week passed, and Harry and Hermione still hadn't spoken about that night. While they continued to sit together with Neville during meals and in the library, their conversations were short and tense. Harry could tell that Hermione regretted what happened, but he was too angry to care. It was made worse with the approach of Halloween.

Halloween had always been a pleasant day for Harry. While he was never allowed to go trick-or-treating, there was enough candy that the Dursleys didn't notice if he snuck a few pieces into his cupboard. For the young Harry Potter, those few morsels had been like a little taste of heaven.

Now that he knew the truth of his past, however, Halloween was an entirely different day. It was the day that his parents had been murdered, the day that started him down a life of suffering and sadness at the Dursleys. In some ways it was almost painful to see everyone excited to celebrate the anniversary of his parents' death. Neville seemed to pick up on Harry's thoughts and feelings, though. Perhaps he understood better than anyone else. After all, Harry reasoned, there was some reason that his friend lived with his Grandmother instead of his parents, although Harry had never worked up the courage to ask what that reason was.

They had classes as usual on Halloween day. Charms had them working on the levitation spell. Harry paired with Neville, who still struggled a little bit with his magic, although it was certainly getting better. Hermione, with whom he was still hardly speaking, worked with Ron.

After a short demonstration, Flitwick turned them loose to practice on their own. The students stared intently at the feathers sitting innocently on their desks. There was always a little hesitation when learning a new spell. Nobody wanted to be the first to try and fail, after all.

Taking a deep breath and concentrating firmly on the task at hand, Harry raised his wand. "_Wingardium Leviosa_" he intoned calmly, but firmly, being certain to use the swish-and-flick technique the professor had demonstrated. The corners of his mouth twitched in a smile as the feather rose steadily into the air. He had performed this spell on more than one occasion while practicing in Timeland, but sometimes it took him a few tries to get a spell to work, even with one of the ones he was more familiar with.

"Oh, well done, Mr. Potter!" Professor Flitwick cried as Harry slowly directed the feather to begin making lazy circles in the air. Harry carefully guided the feather back down to the desk, then looked encouragingly at Neville.

His friend groaned, but pushed back his sleeves, took a deep breath, and repeated Harry's actions from before. Unfortunately, it didn't have the same effect. The feather sat on the desk, completely motionless. Neville turned a little bit pink, but tried again.

Harry took the chance to glance around the room. He was slightly pleased to see that most of the other students were having no more success than Neville. Pleased, of course, that his friend was not far behind, not that Harry was superior to the others. He was always one of the first to cast any given spell, after all of the practice he'd had in Timeland.

Everyone was startled when they heard Lavender suddenly scream. Harry turned to see that a burning feather had fallen onto her hand. A sheepish looking Seamus explained how that had happened. As Flitwick rushed over to ensure that the girl was unharmed, Harry could see Ron and Hermione arguing.

"Make the 'gar' nice and long," she instructed, much to Ron's displeasure.

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," the redhead snarled in response.

With a disapproving sniff, Hermione did just that. Ron's face flushed as the feather rose gracefully into the air.

"Well done, Miss Granger," came Flitwick's delighted cheer, causing Ron's face to get even redder.

Harry turned his attention back to Neville, who was still struggling. Despite repeated casts, Neville didn't ever manage to levitate the feather, although Harry assured his friend that he saw it move a few times. He absolutely refused to speculate on whether that movement was caused by magic, or by the air of Neville emphatically waving his arms.

Soon enough, class was over. Everyone gathered up their stuff and the Gryffindors began to walk toward the transfiguration classroom.

Behind him, Harry could hear Ron talking. "It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly." Off to the side, he saw Hermione push through the crowd, tears dripping down her face. He suppressed a sudden swell of guilt, reminding himself that he was still angry at her for trying to control his life.

That guilt grew throughout the day as he noticed that Hermione skipped the rest of the classes. From what he overheard Parvati telling Lavender, Hermione was crying in the girl's bathroom and didn't want to be disturbed.

Making a decision to patch things up with his friend that night, Harry walked into the Great Hall, still not in the mood to celebrate on this particular day. The decorations were impressive, but not enough to overcome the morose feeling that filled him at the thought of the anniversary of his parents' deaths. He found himself wishing for some reason to cancel the feast. He just wanted to go to bed.

Less than half an hour later, Harry was cursing his previous errant thought as he raced down the corridor to the girl's bathroom. Surely the feast would have been better than a troll wandering the castle. He sighed as his target came into view. He pushed the door open, and entered somewhat awkwardly.

"Hermione? Are you in there?" he called.

He heard sniffling coming from one of the stalls, which opened soon enough, and his frizzy-haired friend poked her head out. "Harry? What are you doing here?" He hoped it was just his imagination that put the slight emphasis on the word 'you', as though she had never expected that he would be willing to reach out to her. _Of course_, he reflected, _it could be that we're currently standing in a girls' loo_. That might also explain the surprise.

"There's a troll loose in the castle. I came to warn you. We're supposed to go back to the common rooms."

"A troll?" Hermione shrieked. "How could a troll get in here? _Hogwarts, a History_ says that there are numerous wards and other protections to ensure that…"

A loud crash from down the hallway distracted Harry from whatever vital clues _Hogwarts, a History_ might hold on the present situation, and he turned to see a massive beast lumbering down the hall toward him, swinging a heavy club at the suits of armor that lined the walls.

He rushed into the bathroom, grabbing the stunned girl and dragging her into the corner as far away from the door as possible. "Shh," he whispered. "The troll's out there, but I don't think it saw me. If we're lucky it will go away."

Luck, it turned out, was not on their side. A few moments later, the door swung open with a loud crash, and a horrible stench filled the room. The troll strode in slowly, its small eyes taking a while to notice the two young first years crouched in the corner, but once it discovered the targets, there was no doubt as to its intentions. With a loud cry, the troll smashed one of the stalls, sending wood shards flying everywhere. Behind him, he heard Hermione scream, and Harry could swear that he saw the troll smile cruelly.

Grabbing his wand, he began to cast any spell he could think of, but none seemed to have any effect. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered reading that many magical animals had a significant resistance to magic, but he kept trying anyway. Hermione cast a few spells as well, but nothing worked.

The troll smashed a sink, sending water spraying everywhere. Harry tried to rush at the troll, a vague idea in mind of attacking it from behind, or maybe jumping on it, but the troll swinging its other hand at Harry caused him to slip on the wet tile. As the huge monstrosity raised its club, ready to smash him once more, Harry could feel the fear and desperation rise up inside him. He pointed his wand, not at the troll's torso, as he had been doing, but instead, aimed significantly lower, then shouted "_Bombarda"_.

The troll's eyes bulged out as the explosive hex impacted its crotch, the loincloth it wore providing little to no protection. With a mighty shriek that filled the entire bathroom, the animal fell to its knees, the club slipping from its grasp as it brought its long arms down to protectively cup the bloodied mess created by Harry's spell. He scrambled to his feet, then aimed his wand at the troll's neck, which was still significantly higher than the boy's own head. A cry of "_Perfigo_" filled the room as Harry, pouring all the energy he could muster into one final spell, sent a piercing hex at the grey-skinned monster in front of him.

Whether through luck or skill, Harry's aim was good. The spell hit just above the adam's apple, cutting deeply into the soft tissue below the jaw. Harry retreated quickly to the corner where Hermione still stood as the troll swayed, then fell face first onto the ground. He could hear his friend's panicked breathing as they both stood there, wands pointed at the unmoving body as the ever-growing pool of blood slowly spread toward them.

Harry had no idea how long they stood there. His heart was still racing, and he found his arms shaking so much it was difficult to keep his wand in position. Eventually, they heard voices in the hall, then cries of shock as the teachers entered the ruined bathroom.

He vaguely heard Hermione offering some explanation for what happened, but didn't pay it any attention. He numbly followed the professors who lead the children to the hospital wing. A vial was pressed to his lips, and he instinctively tipped his head back and swallowed. Whatever potion he had just consumed worked quickly, bringing the room and people around him back into focus. He could feel his racing heartbeat slow down, and saw Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey looking at him with a great deal of concern.

"Glad to see that you are back with us, Potter," the transfiguration professor said, her voice steady despite the worried expression on her face. "You'll be staying here tonight to make sure that there are no lasting effects from your adventure."

She began to walk out of the room, then paused, and turned back to him. "And 20 points to Gryffindor," she said then walked back out. A rebellious part of Harry's mind couldn't help but find it amusing that saving the life of a fellow student was apparently worth only as many points as he and Neville had lost in potions in one day due to a small mistake in brewing.

Madam Pomfrey bustled off to her office for some reason or another, leaving Harry and Hermione in silence.

"Why did you do it?" Hermione finally asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Harry thought for a moment about how to respond. Whether it was that he was truly no longer angry with her, or whether it was due to the potion, he didn't know, but he found it difficult to remember why he had been so cold to her the past week.

"I'm still frustrated with you trying to tell me how to live my life, but I still want to be friends. I don't exactly have so many that I can just let them go that easily."

Hermione gave a small smile. "I still want to be friends, too. I really thought that I was doing the right thing. Everyone always talks about how important school is."

"Well, I'm my own person, and I make my own choices," Harry said with a sigh. "You don't always have to agree with them, but it's still my choice."

Hermione nodded. "I promise, I will." She took a deep breath. "And, thank you," she whispered, as the mediwitch came back into the room.

* * *

A/N – Just to clarify, Harry is not necessarily correct in his beliefs about how his parents would view his attitude toward classes. His understanding of his parents is based entirely on his mother's diary, which reveals her thoughts as a teenager and a young adult. As we all know, opinions can change as people get older. Of course, that's not to say that he is wrong, either.

Also, I've always found it interesting that both Herbology and Astronomy are required classes for the first five years. There is nothing that we see later on that has anything to do with Herbology, and Astronomy seems to only relate to Divination (which many people have suggested is itself a waste of a class – Harry certainly didn't learn anything useful there). Of course, the real explanation is that JKR wanted to come up with some fun, magical sounding classes, and deliberately didn't include anything mundane like Math or English, no matter how important those subjects may be. For this series, however, I'm trying to find semi-plausible reasons for the strange things we see in canon. I'm still mapping out the plots for the later books, and I would like to figure out some reason for these classes to be required. Any ideas would be appreciated.


	9. Chapter 8: A Magical Christmas

Chapter 8: A Magical Christmas

Harry walked down the hall to his head of house's office, trying to keep the mess of emotions he was currently feeling from showing on his face. His last real interaction with Professor McGonagall was several weeks ago, but he still felt that there was some small amount of friction between them. Perhaps he was just imagining it. But, given what happened at the quidditch game the day before, this wasn't something that he could ignore, even if he was still slightly uncomfortable around the strict teacher. After all, it's not every day that one of your professors tries to murder you.

As he walked, Harry reviewed the facts in his mind, preparing himself mentally for the conversation ahead. In actuality, he hadn't known what was going on. His broom had simply stopped working properly, beginning instead to buck and kick wildly. Harry had nearly fallen off, but the shaking stopped abruptly, allowing him to swoop down and catch the snitch.

It wasn't until he had discussed the match with his friends that he learned that what he had taken for a strange and quite frightening… glitch… with his broom had really been an attempt on his life.

He still remembered how frustrated he had been with McGonagall's inaction over how Snape treated him (and Neville) during classes, but, surely, she would have to do something regarding the attempted murder of a student.

Just ten minutes later, Harry wasn't sure whether he should laugh at his previous naivete, or yell at the infuriating woman in front of him.

"Hermione reported that Snape was staring at me intently, without blinking, while muttering something. His eyes were fixed on me, never once looking away. That's not normal behavior."

McGonagall cleared her throat, interrupting him. "Be that as it may, I would remind you, Mister Potter, that Miss Granger is a first-year student who only began learning about magic a few months ago. I can hardly take her belief as proof of wrong-doing."

"Then talk with other people who were there! I'm sure that others with more experience could confirm what she saw."

"Mister Potter, you are perfectly fine. We cannot cause a major disruption in the school for something that may have been a simple broom malfunction. Despite your skill, you are still a rather inexperienced player. It is possible for people to run into problems while still familiarizing themselves with flying, particularly with a new broom. There is absolutely no proof that Professor Snape or anyone else behaved in any way inappropriately."

"Professor, this is the second time in two weeks that a student has almost died. And given that I was in danger both times, I think that I have a right to expect that both events will be thoroughly investigated. Have the police made any discoveries regarding how the troll managed to get into the school?" Harry tried to keep the accusation out of his voice, but judging by the ice cold expression on the teacher's face, it wasn't successful.

"Mister Potter, I hope that you are not implying that the faculty of this school are being in any way negligent regarding the safety of the students. There is absolutely no evidence to suggest that either event that you have brought up was anything more than a mistake or an unfortunate coincidence."

Harry's mind whirled. McGonagall's statement made him wonder if the police had even been notified about the troll. Still, he could tell when an adult refused to listen. He had, after all, experienced it more than enough with the teachers in Little Whinging. _Perhaps a different approach might help_, he thought.

"Okay, if there is a possibility that something is wrong with the broom, should we have that checked? Is there a broom store that could examine it to make sure it's working properly?"

McGonagall sighed. "Yes, Mister Potter, there are stores that can provide maintenance and inspections to ensure that brooms are functioning properly. Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley would be one example. You are welcome to take your broom there over the summer, but I assure you, that it is working just fine. You simply need a little more practice on it."

"It wouldn't hurt to double check, would it? And why would I take it there? Wouldn't the school just do that?"

"Mister Potter, the school is not responsible for the care and upkeep of your broom. It is your property, therefore, it is your responsibility," came the stern reply.

"It's mine? I thought it was the school's broom?" Harry's voice was filled with confusion. "Who even bought it?"

The professor looked slightly stunned for a moment. "I purchased it on your behalf. Headmaster Dumbledore has access to your vault as your guardian."

Harry's jaw dropped in sheer shock. "He can get into my vault and you can spend my money without even asking me? How is that even legal?" He thought back to his first trip to Diagon Alley. Sure enough, Hagrid had had the key to the vault, stating that Dumbledore had given it to him.

The glare was back in full force. "As I said, Headmaster Dumbledore is your legal guardian in the magical world, as such, he has access to your vault for routine expenses."

"Routine expenses like a broom? Without telling me?"

"He can authorize larger purchases on a case-by-case basis, Mister Potter. Quite frankly, I would think that a little gratitude would be appropriate. The Headmaster is a very busy man, and the fact that he is taking time out of his schedule to look out for you is quite generous of him."

Harry was struggling to keep from yelling. Pushing all that anger down, he swallowed deeply. "Okay. No investigation into who's trying to kill me and other people can spend my money without telling me. Great. Wonderful talking with you, Professor."

He ignored her irritated expression as he walked out of the room, not even caring if he shut the door a little harder than strictly necessary as he left.

_Fine,_ Harry thought. _I'll just have to keep an eye on Snape myself._

* * *

The next few weeks were filled with frustration. Malfoy's position in Slytherin had seemingly taken a bit of a hit when it became common knowledge that he was the reason Harry had joined the quidditch team. Given Gryffindor's abysmal prospects without Harry (without a skilled seeker, they would have to hope the Chasers managed to score enough points to make up the difference before the other team caught the snitch), several students had enjoyed pointing out that the Lion's victory was in part his fault. Now, the blonde Slytherin was trying to restore his position by constantly needling Harry.

Harry couldn't help but sigh as he overheard some more snide comments as they all walked out of potions class. Snape, as usual, said nothing, but Harry was sure that if the situation were reversed and he were insulting Malfoy, Gryffindor would be losing points by the bucket. That was just the way that things worked around here. Of course, you couldn't really expect anything even remotely resembling justice from an attempted murderer.

"So sad, what the once noble house of Potter has fallen to," the ponce said with a smirk. "But I suppose it was to be expected given his father's unfortunate choice of wife."

There were many things that Harry Potter was prepared to ignore. He had a lifetime of experience, after all, having grown up with the Dursleys. But insults against his parents were just too much. They had died to save him, somehow defeating the most feared dark lord in centuries, and now this spoiled, inbred… _cretin_… was insulting their memory? Not a chance.

Harry turned to face his nemesis, who took a step back as Harry glared at him. "Y'know, Malfoy, you always talk as though I'm somehow inferior to you. Prove it."

Malfoy scoffed. "I don't need to prove what everyone knows."

"Prove it. Any spell we've learned thus far. You choose the spell, let's see who's better at it."

Hermione chose that moment to interject, "Harry, you can't do magic in the corridors." Several of the Slytherins snickered.

Harry just rolled his eyes. "There's an empty classroom right there," he said, pointing to a door less than 10 feet away. "Come on, Malfoy, prove your superiority. Or admit that you're nothing more than a spoiled, stuck up ponce with no real skills who spends more time on his hair than on his magic. Quite embarrassing for a pureblood from such a _distinguished_ lineage."

Malfoy's cheeks were red, but his eyes were filled with hate. "When my father hears about this, he'll…"

Harry cut him off. "You're a pathetic little weakling who has to go running to his parents every time something happens he doesn't like." Harry's voice was cold and emotionless. "I stand on my own two feet. And my parents would be proud of me. Yours probably just get embarrassed every time they get a letter from you." His face contorted up in a caricature of Draco's sneer. "Daddy, they said something mean to me. Make them stop," he said in a high, mocking voice.

Draco flushed, but didn't say anything. Harry was sure that he was just dying to say, "wait until my father hears about this," but apparently even Malfoy was smart enough to realize that would just prove Harry's point.

Harry just laughed as he walked off. "Any time you want me to show you who's superior, feel free to come find me," he called back.

* * *

Harry wandered through the streets of Hogsmeade, looking at the various stores. It was interesting to compare the magical village to Diagon Alley. The alley was primarily a shopping district, but Hogsmeade was truly a village. He could see a small park at the end of one road where several teenagers were playing a game of quidditch. There was some sort of playground where younger children were running around, enthralled in a game that somewhat resembled hide and seek. All in all, it was a surprisingly nice setting.

Harry stopped by a small shop and bought a large mug of hot chocolate for just a few sickles. Once he finished, he turned his attention back to his self-appointed mission for the day: finding presents for his friends and dormmates. If he was going to be spending the better part of a decade with these people, it made sense to start things off on a good note.

It had been surprisingly easy to sneak out of Hogwarts. The Hogwarts Express had left just yesterday, and now the castle was almost deserted. A quick broom ride followed by a few disguising potions and a sip of aging potion and he could walk around Hogsmeade with nobody the wiser. With almost everyone else gone, he probably wouldn't even be missed. They would all just assume that he was exploring some other part of the castle.

In Gryffindor, only the Weasleys and three other upper-year students had stayed over the break. According to Fred and George, their parents had decided that they could no longer put up with Percy's sycophantic ways, or Ron's disgusting lack of manners at meal times, and so had banned the two boys from coming home (Fred and George having stayed to support their less fortunate brethren). Harry thought that Percy's explanation that they had gone to visit Charlie, who worked as a dragon handler in Romania, was a bit more likely. A small number of people from other houses had stayed over the holidays as well, but nobody that Harry knew. Still, it was a good time.

Harry walked into one store he had noticed earlier, Dervish and Banges, which had a large number of enchanted objects for sale. Less than an hour later, he walked out with more than half of his Christmas shopping done. A small self-watering pot would be perfect for Neville so that he could grow a few simple plants in the dorm (something he had, on occasion, mentioned he would enjoy). Dean, who was quite an artist, would get a great deal of use out of an enchanted paint set. And hopefully Ron would stop bugging people so much after he received Harry's gift of an automatic chess set. _Perhaps that last thought is a little unkind,_ Harry thought. Ron wasn't a bad guy, necessarily, but he did have a definite fixation on quidditch and chess. Without a broom to play quidditch, the lanky red head had instead chosen to devote almost all his time to chess, frequently pestering Harry to play with him. Harry was fine with playing on occasion, but it was still frustrating to continuously lose.

Harry placed the purchased goods in his expanded backpack, next to about a dozen small gift pouches of candy from Honeydukes, which would be the default present for people like Seamus that he didn't know well enough to predict what else they would like. A quick stop at Gambol and Japes provided the perfect gift for the Weasley twins – the _Prankster's Package_, a grab bag of Dr. Fillibuster's fireworks, dung bombs and other such things. After a quick detour to Tomes and Scrolls for a book for Hermione on what joint magical/muggle society was like before the statute of secrecy, Harry began the trek out of the village, where he hopped on his broomstick once more and sped off for the castle.

* * *

Despite not having anything pressing to get done, the days passed quickly. The gifts he had purchased had been enchanted with shrinking and featherweight charms, making it easy for Hedwig to deliver them to his friends. The enchantment was tied to the ribbon, so when the present was unwrapped, it would dispel the charms, which would be very convenient for Hermione, who had nobody at her house who could use magic freely.

Harry spent time exploring the castle, even going so far as to talk to some of the portraits, many of whom had interesting stories. He toyed around with the idea of starting a map like his father had made, but decided that would be a good project for the future when he knew his way around the school better.

There were snowball fights, broom races and mock duels, and plenty of other games as well. One of the Hufflepuffs that had stayed had a game that was similar to a magical version of Battleship, only much larger. It took up a full classroom, and launched conjured balls of paint that disappeared after a few minutes. Fred and George kept trying to convince people to play a big game of hide and seek, but everyone knew they must have some prank they intended to play, despite (or perhaps because of) their deliberately innocent expressions.

And of course, there was chess. _So much chess_, Harry thought, as Ron celebrated another victory over his dormmate. Still, it hadn't all been bad. Harry even got a new goal out of it. After one too many loses, Harry had decided that he would learn to play well enough that he could beat Ron. As such, he had switched Ron's present, choosing to give him one of the generic bags of candy, and keeping the chessboard for himself. With how much free time he had in Timeland, it would give him plenty of opportunities to learn.

Harry awoke on Christmas Day to discover a small pile of presents at the foot of his bed. Not surprisingly, most people had chosen to give him candy. He was a little surprised to receive a sweater from the Weasley's mother, but decided that it was a nice idea, even if he had never actually met the woman in question. It was the last gift, however, that truly shocked and astounded Harry.

His mother's diary had mentioned that his father had an invisibility cloak. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that there had been frequent rants about how ridiculous it was that such a thing would be given to a schoolboy, and how it explained just how the mischievous Potter had managed to get away with so many pranks. Apparently, his father had accidentally mentioned the cloak during a date in their seventh year, something he probably regretted when faced with an irate, rule-abiding Lily Evans. But there had been no cloak in Timeland. _Which makes sense,_ Harry thought. _An invisibility cloak would have been very useful for people in hiding. No sense in leaving it sitting around gathering dust._ Harry had assumed that the cloak had been in the Potter's cottage somewhere, but according to this note, that wasn't the case.

Harry glanced over at Ron, who was still fast asleep, judging by the loud snores coming from the large pile of blankets. He set the cloak down on his bed, and pocketed the note that came with it. Pulling the trunk out of his pocket, he set it on the ground and tapped the rune. Quietly opening the lid, he climbed down the ladder and entered the vanishing cabinet. A few minutes looking through the school records his parents had acquired (most likely under questionable circumstances) while trying to identify potential death eaters confirmed what Harry had at first suspected. The note was definitely Dumbledore's handwriting.

Harry returned to the dorm, shrunk and pocketed the trunk, then laid down on the bed, thinking furiously. Florean had been very suspicious of the headmaster. And from what he had read of the diary, his parents had been, if not suspicious, at least a little skeptical of the man as well. It seemed rather strange that they would give such a valued possession to the man. Especially given that it could very well have saved their lives when Voldemort attacked.

_I guess they must have trusted him more than I thought,_ Harry realized. Then, another thought occurred to him. _Or, the note isn't telling the truth. Perhaps Dumbledore took the cloak after they were already dead._ Harry thought on this for a few moments, but frowned. It didn't explain why the headmaster would return the cloak now.

He quickly realized that he wasn't going to be able to come to any solid conclusions any time soon. Florean would probably have seen this as some sort of manipulation, given his frequent warnings about the cunning mind behind the grandfatherly smile. But was that necessarily true? A kind man selling ice cream could hardly be considered a definitive source of information. On the other hand, Harry had personally seen enough at Hogwarts to confirm many of the things Florean had said. _Still, _he thought as he looked at the cloak lying next to him on the bed, _even if this is some sort of manipulation, that doesn't necessarily mean that it's bad for me._

With a sigh, he sat up, then grabbed the cloak and tucked it into one of the space expanded pockets in his cargo pants. He'd probably find some use for the cloak, and if the Headmaster had given it to him, he couldn't exactly get in trouble for having it, could he?

* * *

The feast was everything Harry could have hoped for and more. An abundance of delicious food and many truly magical party favors made it the best day he could remember. He eventually stumbled back into his room, and put the assorted items he had collected from the wizarding crackers in his trunk. Crawling onto his bed, he let out a groan. He had seen a funny skit on the telly one time about a man who was so full that he exploded after eating just one more mint. Since he was never allowed to eat as much at meals as he wanted, he'd never actually thought about how that would feel. Now, though, he was almost convinced that he really would burst if he ate anything more. With a full belly and a comfortable bed, it didn't take long for him to drift off to sleep.

Harry woke several hours later. The dorm was dark. Ron's snores filled the room. Harry stood slowly and stretched. With a glance over at his sort-of-friend, he walked down to the common room, where the magical fire was still burning lowly, casting deep shadows throughout the room. A glance at his watch showed that it was nearly 2 o'clock. Harry sat in one of the chairs, staring into the fire.

He didn't really feel tired, so it seemed a waste to go back up to his bed, but he couldn't really think of any way to pass the time. He didn't feel like reading, even though he still hadn't finished _Eye of the World_. In fact, what he really wanted was to go exploring around the castle some more, but he had decided after his first nighttime adventure to follow curfew unless there was a real reason. Just because Peeves had agreed not to tattle on him didn't mean that he should tempt fate. He had no desire to be seen by Filch or one of the teachers.

As that thought crossed his mind, he suddenly remembered the cloak that he had received just that morning. _An invisibility cloak would be perfect for some nighttime fun_, he thought. He quickly stood and pulled the cloak out of his pocket, then walked out the door.

He strolled down the hall, ignoring the Fat Lady's question of, "Who's there?", instead reveling in the freedom that came from knowing he was invisible. A few of the portraits were still active, and Harry got a strange amount of pleasure from making funny faces at them without being seen.

After wandering around for a few minutes, he realized that he had no idea where he wanted to go. The novelty of being invisible was beginning to wear off, and there were a number of inconveniences that Harry hadn't considered before. Just because Harry couldn't be seen didn't mean that he couldn't be heard, so he had to be as quiet as possible. And he couldn't have any light, which made it difficult to walk around the darkened halls.

It was as he was beginning to consider going back to the dorm that Harry had a thought. He had noticed a rather unfortunate lack of good books on Defense Against the Dark Arts in the library, assuming that most of them were locked away in the Restricted section. Normally, Madam Pince, the rather unpleasant librarian, was watching like a hawk to ensure that no students entered without permission. But with an invisibility cloak… He grinned as that thought trailed off, then began to make his way quickly and quietly to the library, once more cursing the lack of light. He'd have to find some solution to that. Perhaps some sort of see-in-the-dark charm? He pushed that thought from his head as the door to the library came into view.

Thankfully, the hinges were well greased, and the doors swung open silently at Harry's tentative push. The restricted section was in the very back, behind a simple rope. He stepped over it, then began to wander through the shelves, looking at the surprisingly large number of books. A whispered '_lumos_' cast a few rays of light, Harry concentrating hard to ensure that the spell was as weak as he could get it. The light was enough to see the books right in front of him if he held the wand close.

Some of the books were in other languages. Some had no titles. One had a stain that looked like blood. Harry continued to prowl up and down the aisle, but couldn't seem to find anything that would suggest an order or grouping to the books. A dark green book with gold lettering caught his eye. _The Dark and Forbidden History of the Arcane Arts in Albion, _it said. _Just what I was looking for,_ Harry thought as he opened the book.

An ear-splitting shriek nearly deafened him, and the boy couldn't help but let out a little cry of shock at the unexpected noise. Horrified, he shut the book quickly, but the scream continued. He shoved the book back onto the shelf, and quickly ran to the door. Harry knew he needed to get out of there.

Fortunately, he was still listening carefully, which gave him some warning before Filch burst into the room. He extinguished his wand, and waited for the disagreeable old man to enter, then silently slipped out the door the caretaker had just entered.

He sprinted down one of the staircases, and deliberately knocked over a suit of armor, causing a loud clanging noise to echo through the silent hallways. The Slytherin dorm, he knew, was in the dungeons, so hopefully this would draw Filch's attention that way while he snuck back up to Gryffindor Tower. He made his way stealthily back up the staircase. Ahead, he could see a light, and what looked like two people conversing quietly.

He waited patiently as they walked further down the hallway, then darted past the intersection toward another staircase that would take him up the seventh floor. As he walked, however, his eye suddenly caught on a door that was slightly ajar. Part of him knew that he needed to make it back up to the tower, but still, he couldn't fight back his curiosity at what might be in the room. With one last glance at the rapidly fading light, he squeezed through the doorway, careful not to make any sound.

Most of the room was filled with unused desks and chairs piled up high, but what drew Harry's attention was the massive, ornate mirror on the opposite wall.

Half an hour later, Harry was once more sneaking back up to the dorms. It hadn't taken long for Harry to figure out that the figures he saw in the mirror were, in fact, his family. He recognized his parents easily from a picture his mother had kept on her desk. But as nice as it was to see the family he had never known, he knew that he needed to get back before he was caught. Besides, he had plenty of mementos of his parents, and he knew that unknown enchanted objects could be dangerous.

As the Fat Lady's portrait came into view, he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Another nighttime excursion, and once more, he had managed not to get caught. Shaking his head, he made a promise to himself not to do that again unless he really needed to. And maybe to look through his parent's notes and the various things in Timeland to find some solutions to the problems he had noted while sneaking around.

He began to compile a mental list as he walked up the stairs to the room he shared with the other 1st year boys. _Some way to see in the dark, maybe something so that I can't be heard, a way in and out of the dorm without alerting the portrait. _He paused as he got up to the room. Soft moonlight crept in through the window, filling the room with just enough light to navigate. _Perhaps I could get in or out through the window,_ he considered, but pushed that thought away as he quickly undressed and climbed into bed. It was a problem for another day.

* * *

Harry's hopes that his nocturnal adventure had gone unnoticed were dashed a few days later when Professor McGonagall informed him that the headmaster wished to speak with him. Trying to remain calm, he quietly followed the strict professor to an ornate gargoyle, which sprung out of the way when the professor spoke the password (Fizzing Whizbees).

"Up you go, Potter," the stern Scot said before walking back the way she had come.

Harry stepped onto the circular staircase, nearly falling in surprise as it began to move like an escalator. Up and up it went, until he finally spied a large, wooden door. After he knocked, the headmaster's call of "Come in, Harry," could be clearly heard, and he took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

He found himself in a large, circular room, with dozens, possibly hundreds of portraits on the walls. A bulky, glass-faced cabinet to one side held a large collection of curious objects, none of which Harry recognized at a glance. And a glance was all that he had, for his attention was quickly drawn to the old man sitting at the desk in the center of the room.

Dumbledore smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling, and he gestured to a comfortable looking chair on the other side of the desk. "Please, Harry, have a seat," he said. Still slightly uncomfortable, the boy followed the teacher's instructions.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you in today," the headmaster began. "In truth, I've wanted to talk with you for a little while, make sure that you are settling in okay. But I specifically wanted to talk to you about a little adventure I think you had a few nights ago."

Harry swallowed deeply. _So much for not getting caught_. Dumbledore must have seen his panic, however, because he was quick to calm the boy. "No need to worry," he said reassuringly. "There's certainly no harm done. Over the holidays, we tend to be a little bit more relaxed about things like curfew. Your father and his friends used to enjoy sneaking out of the dorm and down to the kitchens every now and then. Boys will be boys, after all."

His face turned to a slightly more concerned expression. "I am, however, slightly concerned about a large mirror I believe you encountered during your nighttime wanderings. I was working with that mirror, and as such, I had a number of magical protections called wards around it. When I checked the wards yesterday, I noticed that you had discovered it, and felt the need to talk with you briefly about it."

The headmaster paused for a few moments, studying the boy in front of him closely. "May I ask you what you saw in the mirror?" he finally inquired.

"Uh, I saw my family. Isn't that what everyone sees?" the confused boy responded.

Dumbledore shook his head, "No, I'm afraid that's not the case. What people sees varies widely from person to person. You see, the Mirror of Erised does not show your reflection, instead it shows the deepest, most desperate desire of your heart. The happiest man alive would see merely himself, while those with regrets or wishes see how they wish things were, or might be in the future."

Harry took a moment to digest this. "So, I saw my family because I've never known them. My heart's desire is to be able to spend time with the family I've never had. I guess that explains what I saw, but why did you feel the need to talk with me about it?" he asked.

Dumbledore's face turned grave. "While you seem to have done well to avoid the temptation, not everyone has been as strong. Some have wasted their lives in front of the mirror, hoping for one more glimpse of something that may never come to pass. I wanted to ensure that you would not go down that path. It was, after all, through my carelessness that you were exposed to the mirror. I felt it prudent to ensure that there was no harm done."

Harry shook his head. "It was great to see them all, but I know that they would much rather I live my life, rather than spend it staring at pictures all the time."

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes twinkled. "Very wise, Harry. Very wise. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. I'm sure your parents would be quite proud of the man you are becoming." A solemn expression crossed his face once more. "In any case, I will be moving the mirror, so you will hopefully not encounter it again. I just had it there for a few days while working on a project for an old friend of mine, the alchemist Nicholas Flamel. Have you ever heard of him?"

Harry shook his head. Dumbledore shrugged. "Well, if you ever get some free time, you might be interested to learn about him. A very curious man, with a very, _very_ long and fascinating life. But I'm sure that a young lad like you has plenty of other things to keep him occupied." He smiled again. "Now, if there's nothing else, I'll let you get back to your activities."

Harry thought for a moment about his questions and concerns regarding Dumbledore's supposed role as his guardian, and the access to his vault, but chose to say nothing, instead thanking the headmaster and leaving.


	10. Chapter 9: Crime and Punishment

Chapter 9: Crime and Punishment

Harry set the book back on the shelf with a disappointed sigh. So far, 'Operation: Get Control of My Money' was still at square one. There weren't very many books on magical law in the library, and the books that he had found focused more on criminal law. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure what it was that he was looking for, which certainly didn't help matters. Maybe some way to make it so he didn't need a guardian at all? He could certainly take care of himself. He'd proven that over the summer. And with a little aging potion, nobody in the muggle world needed to know that it was really a kid they were doing business with. Of course, he had absolutely no idea how to get rid of his guardian.

What he really needed was an adult that he could trust to help him. Someone that could explain how things worked. A scowl crossed the boy's face. _This is exactly what a head of house is supposed to do,_ he thought angrily. _But if I mentioned anything about this to McGonagall, she'd run to Dumbledore before I could even blink._ She had, after all, made it quite clear she wasn't particularly concerned with Harry's welfare. He'd considered approaching one of the other professors, but hadn't had enough interaction with any of them to know if they could be trusted, either. Unfortunately, between how all the adults back at Little Whinging had treated him, and the Hogwarts faculty's obedience to Dumbledore, Harry had to admit that the number of adults in his life that he could rely on was a big, fat zero.

It was somewhat of a relief to Harry when Hermione and Neville returned from Christmas break a few days later. Both had expressed their thanks for his gifts, and then they all took turns sharing what happened while they were separated. It only took a few minutes for his friends to relay their activities. Harry's report, of course, was quite a bit longer.

"An actual invisibility cloak?" Hermione gasped.

Harry nodded, trying to keep the massive grin from spreading across his face. Then, as he remembered what it had been like wandering the dark halls, added, "But it's not perfect. It's actually somewhat difficult to use, because you can't really see very well at night, but you can't make any light or someone would notice. "

"That wouldn't be a problem during the day, though," Neville quickly pointed out.

"True," Harry agreed, "though I'm not sure how much I would use it during the day. And you'd be more likely to bump into people."

"I'm sure there's ways around that," Hermione said authoritatively.

Harry just smiled. It was good to have his friends back again.

It had already been quite late when the train arrived, so it wasn't long before the students were all heading up for bed. As they changed into their pajamas, Harry looked over at Neville, and tried to subtly bring up the question he'd been contemplating for several days now.

"Hey Nev, I've been wondering about Dumbledore. We all see him as the headmaster, but I know that he's got other jobs as well. What do people outside of Hogwarts think of him? What does your Gran think of him, for example?" Harry almost cursed as he realized what he had said. _That was not at all subtle,_ he thought as he suppressed a groan. It's a good thing he wasn't in Slytherin if that's the best he could do.

Fortunately, Neville seemed oblivious. "Everybody really respects him. He was the only one who You-Know-Who was ever afraid of, after all. I reckon that the only people who would speak bad of him are the Death Eaters and their supporters. My gran says that he's a great man, and that I should listen to him if I ever want to be like my dad." The boy blushed a little at the end.

_So much for that idea, _Harry thought morosely. He didn't allow his thoughts to show on his face, however. "Well, you're doing great on that end," he said encouragingly. "I'm sure your parents would be proud of you."

* * *

With the Christmas holidays over, classes started up again, and, more importantly (at least, to Oliver Wood and Ron Weasley), so did Quidditch practice.

"Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night shall stay these Quidditch players from the swift completion of their appointed maneuvers," Hermione said jokingly one night when Harry was complaining about Oliver's insistence on practicing in all weather.

Harry and Neville shared a quick glance, neither having any idea what their female friend was talking about (an admittedly not unusual occurrence). "What?" Harry finally said, more as a statement than a question, so great was his confusion.

"It's the creed of the United States Postal Service," Hermione responded. "It applies."

Harry just went with his default response, to smile and nod, then change the subject.

"And of course, as if practice isn't bad enough, according the Oliver, Snape is going to be the referee at the next game."

Not surprisingly, both of his friends were as shocked and horrified as he had first been. "How can anyone think that is a good idea?" Hermione shrieked.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. Hopefully with so many people watching he won't be able to try anything too bad, but there's no way he's going to be fair about it. Katie suggested trying to get McGonagall to change it, but since when has she ever done anything useful?"

Hermione scowled a little bit at the insult to her favorite teacher, but made no response.

The trio talked about it for a little longer, but ultimately agreed that there was really nothing they could do. Hermione and Neville pledged that they would be ready just in case the bat-like teacher tried anything, and Harry decided to bring his wand, even though casting spells at the referee during the game was one of the more serious offences in the Quidditch rulebook, almost as harshly punished as using a magical device that emits a sound to both attract and enrage Greater Australian Vampire Bats (one of a surprising number of rules that made Harry wonder about the circumstances that necessitated such a specific prohibition).

* * *

Of course, as the Quidditch match drew nearer, Harry began to face challenges of a less pleasant kind.

"You both might want to watch out for Malfoy," he advised his friends. "He tried to get me with a leg-locker curse while I was walking back from class. Probably hoping I'd get hurt and couldn't play against the Puffs."

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, concern evident on her face.

"Just fine. Dodged and got away, no problem," he responded, but she still seemed to be searching him over as though expecting some sort of injury.

Malfoy wasn't the only one that Harry was having to watch out for. It seemed that Snape had taken an unusual interest in the young Gryffindor. Sometimes, Harry suspected that Snape was deliberately following him, whether looking for an excuse to ban the pre-teen from playing at the next game (which would spell doom for the Gryffindor team, as they did not have a reserve seeker), or just hoping to catch Harry unawares so that he could finish the job he started at the first Quidditch match.

Fortunately, despite all obstacles, Harry awoke the day of the Quidditch game perfectly healthy and ready to play. Before the game began, Oliver took one last chance to point out just how important it was that he get the snitch quickly, before Snape could favor the Hufflepuff team too much. And with that cheerful reminder, the team exited the locker room and made their way onto the pitch.

With all of the time the team had spent practicing the last few weeks, it was no surprise that they quickly began to dominate the game. The Hufflepuff team was reasonably skilled, but not quite up to the standards of the Gryffindor team. Of course, with Snape looking for any excuse to punish the Lions, the game wasn't quite as one-sided as it should have been.

Still, the outcome was never in doubt. Harry had never felt more alive than when he swooped down, narrowly missing the hook-nosed menace as he chased the snitch, ending the game in less than 5 minutes.

The scarlet-clad spectators went wild, screaming and cheering. But perhaps the most satisfying thing for Harry was Snape's angry expression as he landed, white-faced and tight-lipped. Harry did his best not to smirk in the hated teacher's direction, but it was a close thing.

* * *

The party in the common room that night was a raucous affair, to use Hermione's words. Gryffindor was at its peak. They only needed one more game to win the Quidditch Cup, which everyone seemed to feel was practically guaranteed if Harry could play as well then as he had earlier.

Harry figured he likely would be playing just as well during the final game. He'd be getting plenty of practice, after all. Oliver had taken the opportunity in the locker room after the game to announce that the team would be increasing their practices, something that was met with groans, but the captain was adamant. Harry could only shake his head and sigh. Perhaps it had been a mistake for the teachers to select someone so obsessed with Quidditch as the captain. But then again, Oliver was the only one who had been on the team for more than one year. The others (with the exception of Katie and Harry, who had just started this year) had joined only last year.

Harry grabbed one of the cauldron cakes that Fred and George had liberated from the kitchens and made his way through the crowd of students, smiling and nodding as they continued to congratulate him, finally arriving at the couch in the far corner of the room where Neville and Hermione were sitting, talking with Ron Weasley, who looked quite excited despite the fact that he had a black eye and a now healed split lip.

"So then, Malfoy was like, 'Aah, you, you hit me!' and I was like 'Yeah, and you'd better stay down if you know what's good for you' and then Crabbe and Goyle tried to fight me, but I was too quick, and then Crabbe tripped on the seat, and I dodged over behind him, and Goyle tried to follow, but he tripped on Crabbe, and by then Malfoy was getting up, so I ran over to…"

"Harry!" Hermione's delighted squeal interrupted Ron's diatribe, but the redhead wasn't deterred.

"No, not Harry. I ran over to Malfoy and kicked him in the stomach," Ron then noticed Harry standing next to him. "Oh, Harry, mate, that was an awesome game. I was just telling Neville and 'Mione (_Her__mione_, said girl corrected quietly) about the fight I had with Malfoy and his goons. It was awesome, see Malfoy was trying to insult me, but I wasn't getting angry, so then he tried to attack me, but I know how to fight because I've got older brothers, and Malfoy's just a poncy little weakling, so he didn't stand much chance, and I think he knew it, so…"

Harry tuned the words out, sharing an amused glance with his other friends.

* * *

School continued like normal as the Easter holidays drew closer. Classes began to pick up, with more and more homework being assigned. Combined with Oliver's insane Quidditch schedule, as well as early morning exercise with Neville, it was all Harry could do to keep his head above the water sometimes. Fortunately, he had a secret weapon that nobody knew about. He would slip off to Timeland whenever he got too far behind on his assignments. It was always nice to have a chance to relax and just have some time to himself. He was getting a lot better at chess as well, thanks to the automatic board he had planned on giving Weasley for Christmas. One day soon, victory would be his.

Shaking his head somewhat at that thought, he quietly made his way out of the trunk, checking to make sure that the other boys were still asleep. Given that it was only half past five in the morning, Harry was unsurprised to see that they were. He walked over and gently shook Neville, who woke up fairly quickly after so many weeks of getting up early.

The boys changed into their exercise clothes (not that there was any real difference between Neville's work-out clothes and his regular clothes) and made their way down the stairs. There was plenty of space in the common room for them to do their routine of push-ups, sit-ups, and other such exercises before going out for a run.

As they walked up the stairs to the dorm, both boys mentally cursing the fact that Gryffindor tower was at the very top of the castle, Neville mentioned that he would be going home for Easter.

"Oh, is that normal? I know most people go home for Christmas, but it seemed like everyone was planning on staying over Easter," Harry responded.

Neville shrugged. "I don't think it's necessarily normal, but I know that you can. In her last letter, Gran mentioned that she wanted me to come home. I think we've got some family get-together planned, or something like that."

"Well, I'm sure your cousins will be surprised to see the new you," Harry replied, gesturing to his friend's body. And it was true. The exercise had been good for Neville, who was much slimmer, with noticeable muscle definition on his arms now.

"Yeah," Neville said with a smile. "Now I just need to get better at magic."

"You're getting better every day. You can do a lot of the spells now. And the others will come in time. You just keep working on it, and never give up," the dark-haired boy responded encouragingly as they walked up to the Fat Lady's portrait.

* * *

It was certainly different with Neville gone. Harry and Hermione spent a great deal of time revising in the library, occasionally joined by Ron Weasley, who was, to their surprise, actually putting forth some real effort in his studies. Hermione had prepared a detailed revision schedule for Harry, which necessitated a polite but firm reminder that he was capable of making his own decisions. The girl had been disappointed, but, remembering their discussion on Halloween, conceded that he was right, and stopped pestering him to study more, which Harry was grateful for. After all, they were studying plenty as it was.

One thing that Harry could say with absolute certainty is that becoming friends with Hermione Granger inevitably made one very familiar with the library. He now knew which tables were usually open at different times of the day. He knew where books on the various subjects he was taking were located. And he knew, or at least, recognized, the people who also spent a great deal of time here in this haven for bibliophiles. All of this knowledge and experience combined meant that when he saw Hagrid trying (and failing) to inconspicuously make his way to the "Care of Magical Creatures" section, he knew something strange was going on. Hermione, it seemed, shared his opinion.

"You know, I don't think that I've ever seen Hagrid in the library before," she commented, eyes fixed on the large man leaving the library.

"Did it look to anybody else like he was trying to smuggle something out?" Harry asked. Ron seemed oblivious, but Hermione nodded.

"I think it was a book," she said, sounding somewhat scandalized that someone would take a book without following proper check-out procedure.

"I'm going to see what section he was in," Ron said as he stood and hurried across the room.

"Do you think he really cares, or is he just trying to find an excuse to take a break from studying?" Hermione asked quietly. Harry let out a soft chuckle as the red-head returned.

"Dragons," Ron whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons!"

Harry frowned, thinking back over his interactions with Hagrid. "When we first met, he said he'd always wanted a dragon…" His eyes grew wide as he trailed off.

"But it's against our laws," Ron replied.

"I'm not sure that would really stop Hagrid," Hermione said tentatively, a worried expression on her face. "He's not exactly the most responsible adult."

Sharing worried glances, the three students packed up their stuff and quickly made their way down to the large gamekeeper's hut.

A few hours later, the trio were back in the Gryffindor common room, speaking in hushed voices.

"So, let's recap. Hagrid is hatching a potentially dangerous and very illegal dragon in his wooden hut on school grounds, with hundreds of students walking around. It's a recipe for disaster!" Hermione said.

Harry was impressed that she managed to somehow sound like she had shrieked the words even though her voice was little more than a whisper. "Well, we can't tell anybody. I don't want Hagrid to get in trouble."

Hermione's face fell a little bit. "I like Hagrid, too, but this isn't something that we can do anything about. Sooner or later, people are going to notice something. Probably right around the time that his new little pet sets his _wooden_ house on fire."

"You keep bringing up the 'wooden house' bit," Ron observed.

"Well, I think it's an important factor that should not be overlooked when one is planning on raising a _dragon_!" Hermione responded heatedly.

Ron held up his hands in mock surrender. "You're right, you're right."

"Of course I'm right," the girl replied with a stern look, spoiled slightly by the upturned corners of her lips as she struggled not to smile. Her expression turned serious once more as she turned her attention back to Harry. "And don't think that I've forgotten that you went exploring in that forbidden corridor."

Harry winced. He and Neville had managed to get her to loosen up a little bit, but Hermione was still, at heart, a very rule-abiding person. "Would you believe me if I told you that I only knew about the dog from hearing Fred and George talk about it?"

"No," Hermione responded flatly. "You admitted that you heard something behind the door, not that you heard someone who heard something behind the door. I suppose you went there during your little adventure over Christmas hols?"

Harry nodded, not wanting to admit that it had actually been earlier when he made the deal with Peeves. He didn't want to know what his friend would do to him if she found out he was responsible for giving the poltergeist pranking supplies. It wouldn't be pretty. He was also grateful that Hermione had the sense not to mention his invisibility cloak in front of Ron.

* * *

Neville was just as surprised and horrified as his friends when he returned a few days later. "A real dragon," the boy squeaked. "Is he insane?"

Harry just shrugged. "Maybe," he finally said. "But there really isn't anything we can do. If we tell someone, Hagrid will get in really big trouble."

"So, we just wait and hope that it all works out?" the fair-haired boy asked skeptically.

"Unless you have a better idea," Harry replied.

With a sigh, Neville nodded, his face still showing his unease.

Despite his lingering concerns, Harry had to admit that it was amazing to watch the dragon hatch. Hagrid was completely besotted with the little creature; Neville, however, was not.

"Are you sure it's safe? I think Hermione's right, you know. A dragon in a wood house is not a good idea," the boy frantically called from where he had taken refuge across the room, partially behind a couch.

"Hagrid, how quickly do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?" Hermione asked, worriedly.

Hagrid, however, wasn't paying any attention to the four students, instead focusing entirely on the small reptile in front of him.

"I have a very bad feeling about this," Ron said softly.

* * *

Ron's concerns proved to be well founded. The dragon grew quickly, making Harry wonder how long before it outgrew the house entirely. And while it still struggled making more than a few sparks, Harry was sure that it wouldn't be long before it was breathing full on flames.

As he trudged back from the pitch after practice one evening, Harry's gaze fell on the hut. Even from a distance, he could see smoke curling out of the windows. It was just lucky that nobody paid much attention to Hagrid, or he would have been caught by now.

His eyes turned to the Weasley twins a short way ahead as an idea came to mind. "Fred, George, wait up," he called.

The older boys turned around. "What's up, Harrikins?" the left twin inquired.

"You guys said that Charlie works on a dragon reserve, right?"

"Yeah, why?" the right twin replied.

"Come with me. There's something you need to see," Harry said as a gestured toward Hagrid's hut.

* * *

Spending time with Hagrid and Norbert the Dragon was fun, but Harry couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when Fred and George reported that everything had gone as planned. They'd made contact with Charlie's friends, who had taken the surprisingly large crate holding the reptile on a harness they had rigged up, allowing them to share the load between all the brooms.

"Filch was sneaking around a bit, but nothing we couldn't handle," right twin said proudly.

"I'm just glad we got that taken care of without anybody getting hurt, or worse, _expelled_," Hermione said before turning back to her studies.

While he didn't normally see eye to eye with the girl on the subject of schooling, Harry couldn't help but agree in this case. It was good to be done with that particular adventure. He tried focusing on the schoolwork in front of him, but his mind kept wandering. As was so often the case these last few weeks, he began thinking about the forbidden corridor. He looked up from the corner of the common room where he, Neville and Hermione were doing their homework. _What's so important back there that it needs to be guarded by a three-headed dog? And why is it in a school?_

He dropped his quill in shock as he remembered something. "Dumbledore mentioned him," he whispered.

Hermione and Neville raised their heads to look at their friend. "What?" Neville asked.

"I was thinking about the forbidden corridor," Harry replied, ignoring Hermione's glares at this admission. "Hagrid said that Fluffy was guarding something for Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel. I knew that I had heard the name Nicholas Flamel before, and now I remember where. Dumbledore mentioned him when he called me up to his office to talk about the mirror. He said he had it because he was working on something for his old friend, Nicholas Flamel."

Hermione seemed intrigued, despite her best efforts. "So, who's Nicholas Flamel? Does anybody know?"

Neville shook his head. "I've never heard of him."

"From what Dumbledore said, he sounded kind of famous. And he said he was a…" Harry trailed off as he tried to remember the word the headmaster had used. "A something," he finally concluded. "But it sounded like it was an important something."

"Well, with clues like that, we'll figure out who he is in no time." Both Harry and Hermione turned to stare in shock at Neville, surprised by the normally shy boy's sarcasm. Their friend blushed a little at the scrutiny.

"He's an… olkra… elgra…" Harry began, trying out different sounds to find something familiar. "Alga… alka…"

"Alchemist?" Neville suggested.

Harry's eyes shot wide open. "That's it! Alchemist!"

Hermione gasped. "Come with me!" she commanded before dashing out of the room and down the hall.

"She knows curfew is in, like, 15 minutes, right?" Harry said softly to Neville. The other boy just shrugged, but they both followed their friend.

Hermione led them to the library, and down one particular aisle, where she grabbed a book that seemed to weigh almost as much as she did and set it down on a nearby table, still ignoring the friends who had followed her.

"I got this a while ago for some light reading. I know it's in here somewhere," she muttered as she flipped through the pages. "Here," she cried, pointing to a passage. She looked up at the boys, who were still watching her, surprised. "Nicholas Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone," she whispered dramatically.

Judging by Neville's gasp, Harry figured he was now the only one still confused. "The what?"

"The Philosopher's Stone," Neville said excitedly. "It's legendary. It can turn things into gold, and can make the Elixir of Life, which is supposed to be able to cure any illness and let a person live forever. I always wondered if I could find it so that I could cure-" He cut off suddenly, his face looking sad. "It doesn't matter."

"Well, put the book back and let's get back to the dorm," Harry instructed. "Curfew's in just a few minutes." Hermione let out a panicked squeal as she followed his orders.

Once they were safely back in the common room, they sat down where they had left their books.

"So, the Philosopher's Stone, huh?" Harry asked. "That sounds like something important enough that it would be guarded by a big three-headed dog."

"Not that's it all that good of protection," Hermione pointed out. "After all, Hagrid said that it only takes a bit of music to put it to sleep."

"True, but there might be other defenses," Neville suggested. "Maybe some of the other teachers are helping as well."

* * *

Harry stretched a little bit as he walked back from the library. Neville and Hermione were still hard at work on their assignments, but he had to get ready for Quidditch practice. After the last match, where the experienced Ravenclaw team had demonstrated incredible skills, allowing them to absolutely demolish the Slytherins, Oliver was pushing the team harder than ever, still intent on claiming the victory.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" an unwelcome voice said, cutting through Harry's thoughts. Coming out from a side corridor just a few yards ahead was Malfoy, a smirk on his face. Crabbe was standing at his normal place a little behind the smaller boy, but Goyle was nowhere to be seen. A slight grunt had Harry turning his head to see the other large boy coming up behind him.

"Well, scarhead, looks like you're at my mercy," Malfoy began. "You mentioned that we could see who was the best at magic. Now seems like a good time." The malicious smile on his face made his intentions clear.

"You cast a spell, and I'll do whatever I have to to defend myself, Malfoy," Harry warned.

Malfoy just scoffed. "_Locomotor Mortis_," he shouted.

As the jet of light soared toward Harry, he pulled his book bag up, using it to block the incoming spell, then with a cry of "_Flippendo_", he sent a knockback jinx at Crabbe, who had begun to charge at him. The large boy went flying backward, causing Harry to smirk. He turned around to deal with Goyle, but was too late.

A grunt escaped him as he fell to the ground, clutching his jaw where the larger boy had punched him. Goyle brought his leg back to kick the Gryffindor in front of him, but Harry was faster. A tripping jinx followed by a banishing charm sent the overweight Slytherin sliding down the hall, where he crashed into one of the suits of armor.

Harry turned his attention back to Malfoy, but the blonde had already overcome his shock. Harry let out a soft cry as a cutting curse impacted his leg. Fortunately, while it did draw blood, it didn't seem to be too severe.

A quick leg-locker and a soft banisher was all that it took to send Malfoy to the ground, dropping his wand in the process. A levitation charm had the wand flying up into the air as Harry carefully guided it close enough that he could grab it.

He was just preparing to stun Malfoy, the incantation on his lips, when a loud shout of "What is going on here?" startled him. Harry turned to see McGonagall, looking as stern and severe as ever before.

"Mr. Potter, that will be 50 points from Gryffindor for attacking fellow students," she said without waiting for a reply to her earlier question.

Harry spluttered. "What? They attacked me! I was defending myself. If anybody is going to lose points, it should be them!"

McGonagall bristled at the idea of someone challenging her. "Be that as it may, your response was clearly excessive." She gestured to the fallen Slytherins, who were moaning loudly (and, in Harry's opinion, exaggeratedly) in pain. "I will also take 50 points from Slytherin, but you should have taken the high road."

"The high road of letting myself get beat up?" Harry asked incredulously. "And there's three of them. They should lose 50 points each."

"Mr. Potter, punishment is at the discretion of the teachers, not the students. And as you are currently talking back to a teacher, that will be another 50 points for your attitude. And all four of you will serve a detention," she finished, her nostrils flaring angrily.

Harry glared at the teacher as he pushed down on the inferno of anger welling up inside of him. "Okay," he finally responded, and began to walk away before turning back once more.

"Remember today, Professor. I assure you, I will."

* * *

A/N - Harry thinks Snape tried to kill him, but hasn't put Snape's actions together with the forbidden corridor. In canon, Harry began to suspect Snape when he overheard the professor talking about trying to get past Fluffy. He was only in a position to hear that because he wanted to retrieve a library book that Snape had confiscated. In this story, the book was never confiscated, thus, Harry doesn't know Snape was bitten on Halloween. Similarly, Harry didn't see Snape sneaking off into the forest after the Quidditch game, so wasn't in a position to overhear the very convenient discussion between Snape and Quirrell.

On a similar note, those keeping track will realize that Harry and co. are figuring out about the Stone quite a bit later than in canon. Again, in the books, this knowledge came from a series of very fortunate coincidences. One of the things I dislike about the Harry Potter books is how all the necessary information and clues fall into Harry's lap with little effort on his part. I realize that they are kid's books, but even in the later ones that are supposed to be a bit more serious, Harry's luck at being in just the right place to overhear crucial conversations is absurd - especially in book 7. I will be making an effort to stay away from that trap.

Also, I just read an absolutely mind-blowing theory on reddit that Hagrid was actually a Death Eater. Don't agree with everything the writer said (a few of his arguments can be easily countered) but it was still an interesting read. Check it out.


	11. 10: Solving Problems with Bedsheets

_A/N – Just a point of clarification from last chapter. While Harry did get hit by Malfoy's spell, it wasn't like his leg was about to fall off or he was spraying arterial blood everywhere. It was just a minor cut, which, combined with the black Hogwarts robes, means that McGonagall might not have even noticed it. And for those who think it was unrealistic that he was punished, it happens. I had a friend in high school who got attacked by two other boys. He fought back, and when the teachers found them, he was the one standing, and thus was harshly punished, even though he had a broken nose. Sometimes teachers make quick decisions without getting all the facts. Consider how harshly Harry was punished in book 6, even though Malfoy was about to use an unforgiveable on him. Granted, that was Snape's doing, but none of the other teachers protested the punishment._

_And note that McGonagall initially took 50 points from both houses. It was Harry arguing back that cost him the extra 50 points. From our perspective, Harry's got a valid point, but in McGonagall's eyes, Harry is just complaining about a fair punishment._

Chapter 10: Solving Problems with Bedsheets

_It's amazing how quickly people's opinions can change in a short time,_ Harry thought cynically to himself. Once people found out that he was singlehandedly responsible for the largest drop in house points in memory, everything that he had done before now was forgotten. Even students in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw seemed to be angry at him for ruining the chance to dethrone Slytherin. Malfoy, being the git that he was, played up his rather minor injuries to portray himself as the victim of a vicious, out-of-control Harry. And somehow, everyone seemed to buy it.

To Harry's surprise, his argument that he was defending himself after being attacked by three Slytherins was just as ineffective with the other students as it had been with McGonagall. Percy Weasley, of all people, had lectured him on the importance of restraint and obedience to the rules.

"If you want to win so badly that you'll let yourself get beat up for a stupid, meaningless award, that's just fine. I'm going to defend myself." Percy's ears had turned bright pink, whether out of embarrassment or anger, Harry didn't know, and he didn't bother to find out, walking up the stairs to the dorm before the prefect could respond.

But perhaps the worst confrontation came a few days later at the start of Quidditch practice.

"I'm sorry, Alicia, I must have misheard you", Harry said, his voice deceptively calm. "What did you just say?"

Alicia Spinnet seemed slightly unnerved by the obvious hostility in Harry's eyes, but answered the question anyway. "I said it's just a pity that all our hard work has been undone by a little boy that can't control his temper."

"I didn't realize having a feast decorated with Gryffindor colors meant so much to you. Tell you what? Next time a group of Slytherins is looking for someone to beat up, I'll point them in your direction." His smile turned bloodthirsty as he continued, "I'll even help them out."

"Look, we're all on the same team here," Angelina tried to intercede, while the other members of the team were silent, just looking awkwardly at the fight.

"Joy, stuck on a team with a self-centered brat who shouldn't even be allowed to play and that doesn't care how his actions impact others," Alicia snarled sarcastically as she glared at the younger boy.

A year ago, Harry would likely have backed down. After years of being beaten down by the Dursleys (metaphorically for the most part, unless Dudley was involved) he had learned not to stand up for himself unless it really mattered. All it resulted in was more punishment. But now, Harry knew better. He had value. He had worth. He certainly didn't have to put up with people's abuse for things that weren't even his fault. And if nobody else was going to stand up for him, he would stand up for himself.

"You don't like it, take it up with McGonagall. She's the one that stuck me on this team without even asking if I wanted to play. And she's the one who deducted a ridiculous number of points for having the nerve to defend myself when attacked." Harry's voice was as cold as ice. "But in the end, it doesn't matter, because if you think I'm going to just sit here and be insulted by a stupid little bint like you and the rest of the Gryffin-dorks, you've got another thing coming. I quit."

He turned and began to walk out of the room. "You can't quit," Oliver shouted. "We need you." Harry just kept walking.

"Harry, I'm sure she didn't mean it," Angelina tried.

Harry laughed bitterly as he turned to look back at his former teammates. "Oh, she meant it alright. And if you really cared about me being on the team, I guess you should have told the ugly cow over there to shut her mouth. She's been shooting snide comments at me for weeks and not one of you said a thing. In fact, I don't think any of you have spoken to me lately, unless it's to insult me for something you think I did wrong. You and the rest of the morons up in the tower have made it perfectly clear you don't want me in Gryffindor. You don't get to treat me like pond scum and then expect that I'll try to win a trophy for you. Good luck with my replacement," he called as he pushed through the doorway, leaving the stunned Gryffindor team behind.

Not surprisingly, Harry's refusal to play for Gryffindor in the final match didn't make him any more popular. Even Ron Weasley, who it seemed was constantly trying to cozy up to Harry, had distanced himself for this 'betrayal'. Harry just ignored the insults. "Bloodied, but Unbowed," he muttered to himself when the snide, derisive comments got to be too much. When he first saw it over the summer, he hadn't fully understood the poem that his mother had put on the wall in the office at Timeland. Now, however, he could more readily appreciate the strength of will that it took to stand strong against the 'bludgeonings of chance'.

He was particularly angered when McGonagall called him to her office, not in an attempt to deal with the horrendous treatment he had been subjected to, but rather to confiscate his broom. As she explained it, the only reason he had been allowed to have it in the first place was because he was on the Quidditch team. Since that was no longer the case, he no longer had any justification for such an exception to the rules.

He felt a little bad that Hermione and Neville were getting a bit of the same treatment as well, but figured that it was their choice to stay friends with him. It was frustrating that Hermione seemed to agree somewhat that he deserved to be punished (albeit, perhaps not so harshly), but at least Neville was firmly on Harry's side.

The lack of Quidditch practice gave Harry quite a bit more time, which was a pleasant thing in Harry's mind. Even though he wasn't nearly as concerned about his classes as his bushy-haired friend, he did still want to do reasonably well, and so the extra time quickly filled up with more studying and spell practice. He could now cast every spell they had covered this year perfectly with no hesitation, and had continued to refine his abilities with some additional spells from the textbooks.

Weeks passed, and the exams grew nearer and nearer. Harry just couldn't wait for the school year to end. After all the frustrations of Hogwarts, it would be nice to be back in the real world, where his only concern was his relatives. And Harry had a plan for them.

One of the potions he had paid particular attention to when he first discovered Timeland was called Unctuous Unction, which made the person who took drank it think that whoever the potion was keyed to was their best friend. While Harry had been a bit concerned about the morality of such a potion at first, after so many weeks of abuse, he just didn't care anymore. The potion wasn't too difficult to brew, nor were the ingredients particularly expensive. There was a note that the more magically powerful a person was, the more potion would be required, so he figured that it wouldn't take much to affect muggles like the Dursleys. And if worst came to worst, he had disguising potions and aging potions. It shouldn't be too difficult to just leave and live on his own for a few months.

Sometimes, it seemed as though the thought of how wonderful everything would be during the rapidly approaching summer was the only thing keeping him sane.

* * *

Neville stared, open-mouthed, as Harry finished describing everything that had happened during his detention. Hermione, however, was in what Harry called 'deep-thinking mode', a scowl on her face as she bit her lower lip. "It is surprising that Firenze knew about the stone," she finally said.

Harry just stared at her. "Really? I just about got killed by a Ringwraith/Myrddraal thing and that's the part that you focus on?"

"Well, I'm glad you're okay, and horrified that you went through that, but I did think that my observation was an important thing that you maybe didn't notice," Hermione defended herself.

Neville shrugged. "Maybe Hagrid let it slip? He's not exactly the best at keeping secrets."

Hermione nodded slowly. Harry, however, still felt the whole thing smelled fishy. _Why would Dumbledore include Hagrid in his secret plans if he knows Hagrid is so bad at keeping secrets?_ He knew from his mother's diary that Hagrid had been considered a fixture at Hogwarts even during her time, meaning that Dumbledore must have known Hagrid for several decades. Surely long enough to know that the large man could not be trusted with such important hidden knowledge.

"So, if Firenze's little hints are right, that thing was actually Voldemort. And he's trying to get the stone so he can cure himself and be back to full strength." Harry sighed in frustration. "Great. The classmates that're supposed to be like family hate me for defending myself, I've got a teacher possibly trying to kill me, and now it turns out Voldemort might be returning. It's amazing how the magical world makes even being stuck with the Dursleys look pleasant," he finished angrily, ignoring the concerned looks from his friends at the mention of his less-than-pleasant relatives.

"So, what do we do?" Neville asked after a few moments.

"What can we do? We're three first years," Harry responded bitterly. "McGonagall won't believe us about any of this."

"I'm sure everything will be fine. Dumbledore is the only one that Voldemort ever feared. Everyone knows that. He won't try anything as long as the Headmaster is here," Hermione said reassuringly.

Harry wasn't so sure that he agreed, but chose not to say anything. Nothing he said would make any difference, after all.

* * *

In some ways, Harry actually felt like the tests were a bit of a let-down. _I wonder if this is how Hermione feels all the time? You put so much effort preparing for something and then it's a lot easier than you were expecting. It's actually kind of disappointing._ His eyes widened and he physically shook his head to derail that train of thought when he realized that he had been wishing that the end-of-year exams had been harder. Clearly, he had been spending too much time around Hermione. That, or whatever she had was contagious.

There was now less than one week remaining before they would be free for the summer. Harry couldn't wait. With tests finally done, the only thing that people were talking about now was the final quidditch game of the season. Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor, to determine who would win the Cup. It wasn't looking good for Gryffindor, and some people continued to blame Harry for that. In some ways, he agreed. But if they wanted him to play, they shouldn't have treated him like dirt for so long.

From what Harry had overheard, his replacement as seeker, a burly second year named Cormac McLaggen, was causing quite a bit of frustration for the other members. Ravenclaw was easily the best of the three other teams, with a nearly unstoppable chaser line that had been together for 3 years, and a skilled sixth year for Seeker. The general consensus in Gryffindor was that the lions' relatively inexperienced chasers would have a hard time keeping up, which meant that the best chance for victory would be for the seeker to catch the snitch before the Claws were more than 140 points ahead. Even a tie would mean that the house of the supposed bookworms would win the cup, because they had scored so many more points in their other games.

Nobody had any confidence that McLaggen would be successful. He was a bit of a braggart, constantly trying to tell others how to play their positions. And while he was skilled on a broom, and knew a great deal about the game, he just wasn't the level of seeker that would be needed. Oliver had been giving Harry some speculative looks as the game drew nearer, which Harry had mixed feelings about. After all, winning the cup would show everyone that they were wrong to treat him like that, but still, it would also suggest that their treatment of him had been forgotten. Not to mention, if he did rejoin the team and failed, that would only make things worse. No doubt his detractors would then blame everything on him. It was a mess, to be sure. And of course, there was no guarantee that Oliver would ask Harry to rejoin the team at all.

"The Headmaster's not here."

It took a while for Hermione's comment to register amongst all the thoughts of his Quidditch dilemma. "What?" Harry finally asked as the trio sat down for lunch.

Hermione looked somewhat scared. "The Headmaster's not here. He wasn't here at breakfast, and he still isn't here now."

Harry turned to look. Sure enough, Dumbledore's familiar, bearded face was nowhere to be seen.

"Where could he be?" Neville wondered aloud.

Harry sighed in frustration. Despite his mixed feelings about Dumbledore, and his quite uncharitable feelings toward his head of house, he also didn't want the stone to be stolen. "Let's talk to McGonagall. Dumbledore needs to know that someone is after the stone."

* * *

McGonagall proved to be just as helpful as she had always been.

"The Headmaster is a busy man with many obligations," she said, peering sternly over her glasses at the three students in front of her. "There are some complicated issues and debates going on right now in our government in which Professor Dumbledore plays a crucial role. I will notify him that you wish to speak with him, but I am sure that whatever it is, it can wait."

"It's about the Philosopher's Stone," Harry cried out in frustration. "We think someone is trying to steal it."

McGonagall dropped the books she was carrying in shock. "I don't know how you three found out about that, but I assure you, the stone is perfectly safe. No one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry just pulled her away without saying a word. "Don't waste your breath," he said bitterly when they were out of earshot of the strict professor. "She never listens to anything."

The three Gryffindors walked back up to the tower. "It's the perfect time," Hermione said as she looked out the common room window to where most of the students were playing on the grounds below. "Everyone is relaxed now that school is over. I bet even the teachers aren't paying as much attention now as normal."

"So, what do we do?" Neville asked, looking as unsure and scared as Harry had ever seen.

"We wait and hope that Dumbledore is back at dinner and talk to him then. If he's not, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Harry replied with more confidence than he felt.

* * *

Not surprisingly, the Headmaster was still nowhere to be seen when dinner came around.

Harry could feel Neville's eyes boring into the back of his head the whole way back to Gryffindor tower. The trio quickly found a table in the corner where they could talk quietly without being overheard.

"He's not back," Hermione said unnecessarily.

"So, what now?" Neville asked, still looking at Harry.

The messy-haired boy looked down at the ground with his head in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at his two friends. "We steal the stone first." Both Neville and Hermione looked frightened, but they nodded in agreement.

"I've got my cloak, which will help, but we should still grab anything else that might be useful," Harry continued. "We know how to get past Fluffy, but we don't know what other obstacles there are. We'll need to be prepared."

"Right," Hermione said quietly, then ran up to the girl's dorm.

Harry and Neville entered the first-year boys' dorm. Thankfully, they were the only ones there. Opening his trunk, Harry grabbed a space expanded backpack. "This should hold everything we need," he said.

Neville whistled in surprise and appreciation. "Space expanded? That's brilliant! Where did you get it?"

"Odds and ends shop in Diagon Alley," Harry lied remorselessly as he began to shove everything he could find that could possibly be useful into the bag. He trusted Neville, but still wasn't comfortable telling his friend about Timeland and the other things he had discovered from his parents, especially given how supportive his Gran was of Dumbledore.

"Umm, Harry," Neville began timidly. "Did you realize that you are putting you're putting the bedsheets into the backpack?"

Harry nodded. "They might be useful somehow. Maybe as a rope or something."

Neville shrugged, then pulled his own sheets and blanket off and added them to Harry's gear. "Leave the bed cover," Harry instructed. "That way people won't notice that we've packed the sheets."

The boys regrouped with Hermione down in the common room, once more sitting in the corner. As usual, nobody had anything to say to them. One by one, the students in the common room walked up the stairs to the dormitories, until it was just the three of them left.

"Last chance to back out," Harry said softly. He couldn't help but smile a little at his friends' fervent refusal.

The three preteens stepped out of the room. The fat lady was gone from her portrait, so there was now no going back. Taking a deep breath, Harry began to lead them down the corridor, whispering softly. "I've got my cloak, but it would be tough for us all to fit, and we'd be likely to trip. We'll just listen carefully, and if we hear anything, we can stop and hide under it."

The others nodded in acknowledgement.

They walked quickly but quietly. Fortunately, they didn't have too far to go. But as they neared the third floor, it seemed that their luck had run out. Noises could clearly be heard coming their way. Harry felt as though his heart would break out of his chest, it was beating so loud as the three teens huddled under the cloak, hoping that whoever it was would pass quickly.

His throat caught for a minute as he heard the high, malicious chuckling of the resident poltergeist, then he relaxed. Sure enough, about ten seconds later, Peeves turned the corner ahead. "Who's there?" he called. "Peeves knows someone's there, even if I can't see you."

Ignoring Hermione and Neville's panic, Harry pushed the cloak aside. "Hello Peeves," he said with a smile. "I believe we have an agreement about situations like this?"

Peeves studied the students for a moment, and Harry worried for a moment that he would back out on his promise, but then small creature smiled. "I remember. Should Peevesie help Potty?"

"We're going to the forbidden corridor down the hall. If anybody else comes, I'd like you to make some sort of a distraction to lead them away."

Peeves chuckled. "Naughty Potty. It's going to cost extra…"

"I'll bring more next year," Harry promised. When the poltergeist nodded in agreement, he pulled Hermione and Neville to their feet and began to lead the way back toward where the stone was hidden.

"What arrangement do you have with Peeves?" Hermione asked quietly.

"I gave him some pranking supplies, and he leaves me and my friends alone," Harry replied absentmindedly, paying more attention to his surroundings than to his female friend.

"What supplies?" Hermione demanded.

"Shh," Neville whispered.

"Sorry," Hermione responded, much more quietly, then turned back to Harry. "What supplies?" she repeated.

"Just some basic pranking things. Some dungbombs. A potion that turns your hair funny colors. Other harmless stuff like…" Harry struggled for a minute to think of what else he had given the poltergeist, "enchanted centipedes."

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. "What?" Hermione shrieked. Both boys turned to glare at her. "Shh!"

Hermione looked around for a minute, then turned back to Harry, as angry as he had ever seen her. "_You_ gave Peeves those centipedes," she hissed.

Shocked by her vitriol, Harry just nodded. "Why?" he finally asked.

"Do you have any idea what he did with those?" she demanded.

"No? Why? Did it affect you? He wasn't supposed to do anything to either of you."

"No, it didn't affect me, it was just on the Ravenclaw girls. I heard Padma telling Parvati."

"What did he do?" Neville asked curiously.

Hermione blushed. "Well, I'm not going to tell you exactly what it was, but you should be ashamed of yourself."

"Whatever, we can talk about this later," Harry said as the door, already partially ajar, came into view. The soft sounds of a harp could be heard, along with the steady, rhythmic breathing of three large heads.

Harry pushed the door open a little more, and they looked in to see Fluffy fast asleep as a small golden harp on the floor played a soft tune. There was a trap door in the floor, and the three students walked over and opened it carefully. Inky blackness awaited them.

"Should we jump?" Neville suggested, though it was clear he was hoping somebody else had a different idea.

Harry resisted the urge to insult McGonagall. If she hadn't confiscated his broom, this would have been simple. Then he remembered what he had said to his friend earlier in the dorm. He set the backpack down and began pulling out the sheets. "Don't need to jump. We'll climb down," he said with a grin.

They tied the sheets together, and tied a massive knot on the end, which they slipped under the door and wedged tight in the crack by the hinge. There was a moment of panic when the harp stopped playing, but at Neville's quick call of, "Play repeat," the music began once more.

"How did you know how to do that?" Hermione asked as Harry climbed down the makeshift rope.

"My gran has a harp like that," the boy responded.

A few minutes later, Harry made it back up to his friends. "There's some sort of plant down there, but I'm not sure what it is." He pulled himself out of the hole to make room for their resident herbology genius.

"It's Devil's Snare," Neville called up softly a minute later. "If you use a lumos before you step on it, it will go dormant."

Neville's instructions proved correct. It didn't take long for Hermione to climb down, and then Harry went last. It was a strange feeling to stand on the slowly moving plant, but it didn't make any moves to stop them as they carefully made their way down the stone passageway. In the back of his mind, Harry was a little bit confused. Devil's Snare may be a challenge if caught off guard, but they had learned about it earlier that year. It shouldn't be enough to deter a determined thief.

Harry could hear a rustling noise ahead as the passageway turned and opened into a large, well-lit chamber. The air above them was filled with hundreds of shiny objects flying around quickly. Harry looked more closely, before understanding. "They're keys! Keys with wings!"

Neville pointed to some brooms leaning against one wall. "Maybe we're supposed to catch the right one," he suggested.

Harry shook his head. "I've been on a cursed broom once before, and that was plenty for me. I'm not going to trust a broom that was specifically left down here."

"Do you have more sheets?" Hermione asked. "We could tie some weights down on the corners, levitate the sheet over the correct key, then cancel the charm, trapping the key in the blanket."

It took a few minutes to find the correct key. Harry was extremely grateful for the new glasses he had purchased over the summer. He couldn't imagine how tough it would have been had he still been trying with the incorrect prescription his relatives had given him before. Once they saw the key, it was quite simple. Though Neville's charmwork was still a bit spotty, he was able to do the levitation charm well enough to lift his corner of the sheet.

The sheet gradually moved over the slowly moving key. "Drop it on three." Harry said.

"Is that one-two-three then drop, or one-two-drop as you say three?" Hermione asked.

Harry was concentrating so hard on the key above them, he had to think for a minute to understand what she was saying. "I'll say one, two, three, drop," he responded.

"Okay," the girl said.

Harry could see that Neville was struggling, so began the count quickly. "One, two, three, DROP!" Without the spell to hold it up, the blanket was pulled down by the heavy books they had tied to the corners. All three students gave a soft cheer as the key they needed was trapped and pulled to the ground, along with about a dozen others.

They pulled the keys out one at a time. It was Neville that finally grabbed the right one, and they all trotted over to the heavy door. Sure enough, the door opened easily. _That wasn't much of a challenge either,_ Harry thought, but focused instead on the next challenge.

A massive chessboard filled the room. "Do we have to play our way across?" Hermione asked. Without waiting for a response, she added, "And I bet that we're supposed to take the place of some of the pieces, as well. That's the only reason for it to be so large. Otherwise, you could just as easily have a regular sized board and the door only unlocks after you've won."

"I'm starting to wish we'd brought Weasley along," Neville muttered.

The mention of their red-headed classmate reminded Harry of the present he had originally purchased for the boy. He began digging through the backpack. "Do I have it?" He pulled one object after another out. "Nope, nope, that's not it, nope, YES!" He held the automatic chessboard triumphantly, much to his friends' confusion.

"This is an automatic chessboard. There's got to be some way that we can use it to get across. And it's way better than Weasley. On the hardest setting, it beats me faster than he ever could," Harry explained.

Hermione looked at the board, then back at the chess pieces in the room, obviously thinking deeply. "We're supposed to take the place of the black pieces. So the room will be white. If we play on Harry's board as white, we can put whatever move the room does onto Harry's board. Then, whatever move the board does, we use that as our move in the room." She slowly sped up as she gained confidence in what she was saying, a broad smile on her face. "It will end up with the room and the board playing against each other. We just have to make sure that we correctly mimic their moves."

"That's easy enough," Harry said as he switched the board to the hardest setting and began setting up the pieces. "The most powerful pieces will probably be the safest, so Hermione, you take king, Neville can take the queen, and I'll take one of the rooks."

He looked to see that Neville had already taken the place of the kingside rook, and Hermione was just stepping on to the square of the queen. "You're the king, Harry," Neville said.

With a sigh, he took his place, and the game began. To Harry's great relief, his faith in the small board was well justified. It took less than two dozen moves to checkmate the white king. Now that the game was over, all three students relaxed noticeably. Even though it required very little actual thought, it had still been the most stressful challenge by far. Of course, the brutality shown when the pieces attacked each other probably had something to do with that.

It was a relief that the troll in the next room was already dead or unconscious. Harry had no desire to repeat the near-death experience from his last encounter with a troll.

Neville jumped in fright when strange colored flames rose up in front and behind them as they entered the next room. Harry stared at the seven bottles on the table curiously as Hermione read the riddle.

"Brilliant," she said. "This isn't magic – it's logic – a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck here forever."

Neville looked mildly offended for a minute, then shrugged. "That's probably fair."

"Let me see the riddle," Harry said. He read it once, then pulled out some paper. Setting the poem on the table where they could both see, Harry and Hermione went to work.

_So, poison on nettle wine's left side. That means nettle wine cannot be #1. But poison could be #7, because there are 3 poisons, and only 2 wine._ Harry made a few marks on his paper, then continued.

_Neither the largest nor the smallest has poison._ A quick glance at the bottles on the table showed that the second from the right was the "giant", while the third from the left was the "dwarf".

The next clue didn't seem to help him at that point, but Harry smiled at the final clue. _The second left and second from the right are the same. That means that they're either both poison or both nettle wine. And since I know that the giant can't be poison, that means that #2 and #6 must be nettle wine. So, #1 and #5 must be poison._

"Got it," Hermione announced proudly.

"Let me finish to make sure that we have the same answer," Harry said quickly.

He glanced back at the third clue. _If the ends are different, but neither lets us go forward, then the one on the right must be the potion that sends us back, because we've used all the nettle wine and it can't be poison. That means we only have #3 and #4 left. And #3 is the dwarf, which can't hold poison, so that must be the potion that lets us go forward. _

"The smallest one lets us go forward, and the one on the far right lets us go back, right?" he said, looking to Hermione for confirmation. It might have been just his imagination, but Hermione almost looked disappointed for just a second, but she nodded nevertheless.

"That's what I got, too," she confirmed.

"It doesn't look like there's much in there," Neville said doubtfully.

Harry looked at the tiny bottle, then back at his friends. Neville was right. There wouldn't be enough for all of them.

"Go back and make McGonagall get Dumbledore – whatever you have to do. I'll go ahead and stop Snape or Voldemort or whoever it is."

Neville looked shocked. Hermione looked like she was about to cry. After a second, the girl threw herself forward, wrapping Harry in a rib-crushing hug. "Be careful," she said.

"Just get Dumbledore as fast as you can," Harry said. With a nod to Neville, Harry turned back to the black flames that lead to the next room. He tipped his head back and swallowed the contents of the bottle, belatedly wondering if perhaps whoever it was that had come before had switched the order of the potions on the table, and what that would mean for him, but it was too late now.

An icy cold filled his body. "I think it's working," he said to his friends.

"Good luck," Neville said as he took a drink from the other bottle. Hermione nodded in fervent agreement, concern evident on her face.

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped through the flames.

* * *

A/N – The poem Harry was thinking of is _Invictus_, by William Ernest Henley. Seriously, one of the greatest poems of all time, IMHO, and a perfect fit for my version of HP. The same poem was referenced in the prologue, and it'll pop up a few more times, as well.

Until I reread this section of the book, I hadn't remembered just how badly Harry was treated for losing those points. Everybody is quick to point out how he was treated in Chamber of Secrets, but this is arguably worse. After all, in CoS, the students actually thought their lives were on the line, and Harry had a talent that was heavily associated with Voldemort. That's at least somewhat understandable. Shunning and insulting a kid for weeks who was excessively punished for a minor offense is absurd. That 'not talking to Harry for weeks' thing? That's canon. And even when they found out the story, nobody argued that the one to blame was really McG (even Fred and George, which just makes them hypocrites). Needless to say, this Harry is not going to be quite as forgiving.

I'm a bit surprised that some people thought that I was making McGonagall's actions last chapter ridiculously over the top. In canon, she took 50 points from each of the Gryffindors for sneaking out at night, just minutes after she had taken only 20 points from Slytherin for Malfoy doing the exact same thing. Punishing a minor offense so harshly that it completely throws off the house cup competition? And then ignoring the following weeks or even months of emotional abuse against a student in her own house? That's ridiculous. 

And no, I'm not ever going to explain what Peeves did with the centipedes. Use your imagination! :)


	12. Chapter 11: The Secrets We Keep

Chapter 11: The Secrets We Keep

_A/N – Just a note to avoid confusion: there is a small jump at the beginning of this chapter. Nothing is missing. Just read it, and all will be made clear._

* * *

Harry opened his eyes slowly, trying to ignore the shooting pains in his arm and leg. Every little movement sent waves of agony up and down his body. It was all he could to do keep from screaming. Slowly, the room came into focus. He was in the hospital wing.

Confused, he looked out the window. It was still dark out, but with hints of light suggesting that daybreak was near. _How did I get here?_ He tried to think back, but everything was just… blurry.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned his head, wincing at the pain it caused. Albus Dumbledore walked serenely toward him, a calm smile on his face.

"What happened?" Harry asked as the headmaster drew closer.

Dumbledore frowned. "I'm afraid I don't know any more than you do. We found you in the last room, unconscious and wounded. What can you tell me about that?"

Harry's face contorted in confusion. "What room are you talking about? I have no idea what the last room is."

The headmaster's frown deepened. "What's the last thing you remember, Harry?"

The boy tried to concentrate through the haze of pain that filled his body. "Hermione, Neville and I were convinced that someone was going to try to steal the Philosopher's Stone. McGonagall refused to let us talk to you, so we decided to go ourselves. We were waiting in the common room for everyone to go to bed. That's all I remember."

Dumbledore stared at him intently, his bright blue eyes seeming to peer directly into Harry's soul as a fresh wave of pain reverberated through his skull. It was all that Harry could do not to scream. Fortunately, the pain stopped as suddenly as it had started. Seemingly taking notice of the boy's pain, Dumbledore stepped back a little bit, then sighed heavily. "I suppose then, that I do know more than you. From what Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom told me, the three of you made your way to the forbidden corridor intent on stopping the person you believed was trying to steal the Stone. Miss Granger was rather irate about a deal you had made with Peeves, but I suppose we have other things to discuss for now."

Making a mental note to have words with Hermione for spilling his secrets, Harry waited for the headmaster to continue.

"Through several remarkable displays of ingenuity, you were able to make it through the various obstacles that the teachers had prepared to protect the Stone, until you were at last separated in the penultimate room. Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom returned to fetch me, while you went on ahead."

Dumbledore stopped for a moment, and looked up at the wall, as though gathering his thoughts, before turning back to the boy lying on the hospital bed. "The final defense was one that I had prepared. You may recall the Mirror of Erised, which you encountered over Christmas. I had placed the Stone inside the mirror in such a way that only someone who desired to find the Stone, but not use it, would be able to retrieve it from the mirror. Those who sought to use it would merely see themselves making gold or drinking the elixir of life."

"So, does that mean that the Stone is safe?" Harry asked.

"Unfortunately, the mirror was destroyed at some point during your encounter with Professor Quirrell."

"It was Professor Quirrell? He was the one trying to steal the Stone? I thought it was Snape!" Harry interjected before the headmaster could continue.

"Professor Snape," the headmaster corrected gently, pretending not to see Harry's scowl. "It turns out that Quirrell had chosen to host the disembodied spirit of Lord Voldemort. He was wounded during your altercation, and then Voldemort abandoned him, resulting in his death."

"Am I going to get in trouble for it?" Harry asked, still in too much pain to feel any real concern.

"No, given your current state, it's obvious that, whatever happened, you were acting merely in self-defense. There's no punishment for that."

Harry scoffed. "You might want to mention that to McGonagall."

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, I have heard about that little situation. I know that it is frustrating for you, but remember the importance of forgiveness. Everyone makes mistakes. Holding grudges harms you far more than it harms them."

"None of the other students have considered 'forgiving' me for something that wasn't even my fault in the first place." Harry retorted sharply.

Dumbledore continued as though Harry hadn't said anything. "When I arrived in the room, you were unconscious, having been disarmed and severely injured. I immediately brought you up here, where Madam Pomfrey began to work her very special brand of magic. I am pleased to be able to tell you that you will make a full recovery, though she was forced to give you a potion called skele-grow, which is responsible for the rather large amount of pain you are likely experiencing right now."

Harry felt that 'rather large amount of pain' was a rather large amount of understatement but let the comment slide. "What did he do to me?"

"According to the diagnostic spells Madam Pomfrey used, you suffered a reductor curse to the left arm, and a bone shattering hex to the right leg. Fortunately, both were rather underpowered, so there is no permanent damage. Not even any scarring."

"So… with the mirror destroyed, does that mean that the Stone is gone?"

Dumbledore frowned for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure. The Mirror of Erised was an ancient device, a truly remarkable feat of enchanting. The spells that I wove into the existing magic to hide the Stone made it even more complex. I have no idea what the current state of that very complicated web of magic is. I will have to study it to determine what, if anything, can be done. Though I have had a little chat with Nicolas, and we agreed that perhaps this is for the best."

Dumbledore smiled a little at Harry's confused expression. "The Stone gives wealth and eternal life, just what most people would want. Unfortunately, people have a knack for choosing precisely those things that are worst for them. Nicholas and Perenelle have lived a long life. To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure, like going to bed after a very, very long day. They have enough elixir to put their affairs in order, but after that, they will die."

"But even if the Stone's gone, that's not going to stop Voldemort, right? He'll try to come back some other way."

"Yes, he is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share. Not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time – and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry couldn't help but feel that Dumbledore was being a little naïve about the whole situation. Or perhaps he was downplaying it so that Harry wouldn't be as concerned. Either way, Harry had the answers to his questions now. He kind of hoped that Dumbledore would be done talking.

Fortunately, Dumbledore seemed to notice his reluctance to speak any further, and left him in peace. Despite the shooting pain, he fell asleep rather quickly.

* * *

Harry awoke several hours later. His arm and leg felt stiff, but at least there was no more pain. As he began to sit up, Madam Pomfrey bustled over and waved her wand across his body. Seemingly satisfied with the result of whatever spell she had cast, she began to bend and stretch his arm, and then moved to his leg. About 10 minutes later, he was finally able to move reasonably well on his own. He was informed that he would need to stay for a few more hours, but he would be released in time for lunch.

He heard a slight crinkling noise as he pulled on his trousers, and was surprised to discover a wrapper for a granola bar in his pocket. He peered at it, confused. It was definitely the type of granola bar he kept in his emergency kit. But he hadn't eaten any of those since he came to Hogwarts. Why would he have done so last night? He couldn't ponder this mystery for long, for just a few seconds later, the mediwitch announced that he had some visitors. He put the wrapper back in his pocket, and was pleased to see Hermione and Neville approaching him, both looking very concerned.

"So, you don't remember any of it?" Hermione asked as they drew closer.

Harry shook his head, disappointed. "Wish I could." He shrugged. "But you don't always get what you want. What do you two remember?"

There had never been a time that Harry appreciated Hermione's near-perfect memory more than he did then. She was able to recount every room, every detail, almost every word. It was strange for Harry to hear these things that he did but not be able to recall any of it.

After about half an hour, Madam Pomfrey came over to shoo his friends out of the hospital wing. As she stood to leave, Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a familiar book. "I thought you might want a little something to pass the time," she said with a shrug.

Thanking her, Harry reached over to pick up the book he had been reading on the train when they first met. He found it a little amusing that he'd been reading it for the entire schoolyear, and still hadn't finished it, but, in his defense, _The Eye of the World_ was not a short book by any stretch of the imagination.

He opened the book, and continued to read about the protagonists' desperate rush into the Blight to prevent the Dark One from escaping his prison. And then he came upon a passage that resonated deep within his soul.

"The Dark One cannot be defeated without chancing risks. But we are alive at this moment, and before us is the hope of remaining alive. Do not surrender before you are beaten," he repeated aloud. Somehow, this simple statement spoke to him louder and stronger than Dumbledore's words just a few hours before.

Dumbledore may be content to sit back and wait, hoping that somehow Voldemort would be delayed again, but Harry knew that such a wait-and-see attitude was foolish. And worse, it was dangerous. _Now is the time to prepare_, he thought.

* * *

Lunch was already in full swing by the time he arrived in the hall. He made his way slowly over to the Gryffindor table, his arm and leg still a little sore, and sat down next to Hermione and Neville. His friends smiled when they saw him, but Harry was irritated to discover that they were not the only ones excited to see him. Several of the other Gryffindors gathered around, asking him questions about what had happened. Everyone had heard rumors, but nobody knew the truth.

For his part, Harry simply shrugged and said that he had no idea. He had no memory of any of it. And deep inside, he repressed the irritation he felt that people were willing to talk to him again now that he had done something 'cool'.

Less than an hour later, he made his way to McGonagall's office, checking first the note he had been given, then his watch to verify that he had arrived at the correct time. He knocked on the door, and opened it at her invitation. He was surprised at first to see several people already seated, but knew immediately what this was about.

"You wanted to see me, Professor," he said in a neutral voice.

"Yes, come in, Potter. I believe Wood had something he would like to discuss with you," she said, gesturing to the fifth-year.

"Harry, there were some difficult times, but the thing is, we need you back on the team. Ravenclaw's going to be a tough match, and we need our top people out there." The rest of the quidditch team remained silent, but seemed to be in agreement, even Alicia, to Harry's surprise.

Harry said nothing, merely raising one eyebrow instead.

"I spoke with Madam Pomfrey, and she agreed that you could play tomorrow afternoon," McGonagall said briskly. She reached behind her desk, and pulled out his broom. "Welcome back, Potter."

Harry looked at her for a moment, then laughed. "Really? You think that I'm just going to forget that I was shunned and insulted by my housemates," he turned to glare at Alicia for a moment, "and my teammates for more than two months because a professor doesn't understand the concept of self-defense?" He scoffed. "I'm not playing for you. But I will take my broom back now."

He turned and walked out of the room, ignoring the protests behind him.

* * *

Harry sat down on his bed heavily, grateful for a little peace and quiet. The other students seemed to be going out of their way to prove that they were on his side now, perhaps hoping that it would cause him to forget about their earlier behavior. In reality, all that it did was irritate the young Gryffindor.

He lay back, looking at the ceiling above, his mind thinking back to what he had read earlier that day. He knew that defeating Voldemort wouldn't be as simple as Dumbledore had suggested. Last time, the evil man had been almost unchallenged, and many innocent people had paid the price, including Harry's parents. And as for the idea that Dumbledore was the only one that Voldemort truly feared? Not likely. If Voldemort really had been possessing Quirrell, that meant that he had spent months waltzing around the castle like he owned the place. _That's not the behavior of someone who's afraid of the Headmaster, _he thought bitterly.

_No_, Harry decided. _I'm not going to take Dumbledore's path. I'm going to prepare. I'm going to fight._

He sat up, still thinking heavily. He wished that he could remember what had happened last night, but in the end, it probably didn't matter. He glanced around the room. Nobody else was here, nor was it likely that anyone would be joining him any time soon. Almost all of the students were spending the afternoon outside, after all. He might as well use this time productively. Starting with the mystery of the granola bar wrapper.

He reached into the expanded pocket on his right leg where he kept the emergency kit, then began to panic when he felt nothing at all. Heart racing, he reached into the pocket on his left leg, where he kept the trunk to Timeland. He sighed in relief as his hand closed around something, but then frowned when he realized it wasn't the trunk. He pulled it out, and found he was holding his emergency kit.

Confusion and panic set in. He hurriedly checked the regular pockets in the trousers, but they were empty. The Timeland trunk was missing. His first thought was that someone, probably Dumbledore, had searched his clothes while he had been unconscious, but if that was the case, why would he have been so careless as to put the kit back in the wrong pocket? And could he have penetrated the trunk's defenses so quickly? Harry knew from his mother's notes that there were many protections to ensure that only she, or someone born into House Potter, could open the trunk. And how did the wrapper get into his pocket?

He opened the emergency kit to see if anything was missing and stared in shock at the first thing he saw - an empty potion vial, deliberately placed right in the middle of the first compartment. He picked the vial up, studying it closely. It appeared to be the same kind that he used, or rather, that his parents had used for the potions in Timeland.

He could hardly breathe as he shut the first compartment on the kit, and opened the fourth, which held the emergency potions he kept on hand at all times. He swallowed deeply when he saw that one vial of potion was missing – a temporary forgetfulness potion. There was only one possible explanation.

He had deliberately erased his own memory of what had happened that night, but left clues so that he would be able to regain that memory.

He thought for a moment, then opened the third compartment, which held the food. Grabbing the box of granola bars, he dumped it out on the bed and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the Timeland trunk partially hidden inside an empty wrapper.

A part of him knew that it was risky to leave the trunk here when any of his roommates could come in, but Harry didn't care. He needed to know what had happened. With one last glance at the door, he set the trunk on the ground and tapped the rune to return it to full size. He climbed inside, and swiftly made his way to Timeland.

Dashing to the potion lab to grab the counter for the forgetfulness potion, he ran to the bedroom he used and sat down. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he swallowed the counteragent, then laid back as the room began to spin and darkness crept up on him.

The boy found himself floating in a great darkness. He looked all around the massive abyss in which he found himself, but there was nothing to see. Emptiness everywhere he looked. Memories began to come back to him, and he remembered what was happening. He had done this before. He simply needed to stay calm, and all would be revealed.

Harry found himself waiting in the common room with Hermione and Neville, casting nervous glances at the other students. About five minutes later, the last student finally went to bed, and the trio began their mission.

Hermione had (not surprisingly) described perfectly the challenges they had faced. But what she had not described, because she had not known, was the suspicion that had been growing in Harry's mind the whole time.

_So, we have a very simple herbology obstacle that might as well have been tailor-made for Neville, an obstacle designed for a seeker like me, and a logic puzzle that was perfect for Hermione. And let's not forget the chess puzzle. I wonder if Dumbledore expected Weasley to come along with us? Clearly this was intended for me and my friends. For that matter, do I even know that the Stone is really here? Everything I know ultimately comes from Dumbledore._

At last, they came to the final room. Harry felt himself grow nervous as he stepped through the fire. It was strange, feeling such apprehension, when he knew that everything would work out okay. Granted, Quirrell had severely injured him, but it was nothing that Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix.

His past self was surprised to see the stuttering professor, having expected Snape or Voldemort. Panic set in as he was wrapped in conjured ropes, bound so tightly that he couldn't move. He could only watch as the professor studied the large mirror in front of him.

"Use the boy" came the high-pitched voice, almost like a whisper. To Harry's shock, it seemed to be coming from Quirrell himself.

Harry was freed from the ropes, and Quirrell pushed him in front of the mirror. "What do you see?" he demanded.

Harry nearly gasped when his reflection slipped a dark red stone about the size of his fist into his pocket, and Harry could feel the weight in his own trousers. He had the Stone! But now, he needed to keep it safe from Quirrell. "I see my parents," he lied, trying to put as much emotion into his voice as he could. "They're standing beside me, with their arms on my shoulders. And there are some younger children that kind of look like they're related to me. I think they're my younger brothers and sisters."

"Get out of the way," Quirrell ordered, cursing as he pushed past Harry to study the mirror once more. And Harry knew that this was his chance.

With Quirrell distracted, Harry rushed forward, slamming into the professor's back, sending him stumbling headfirst into the mirror.

Whatever enchantments had been cast on the mirror were not enough to resist the fall of a full-grown adult. The mirror shattered and Quirrell fell to the ground, screaming as he landed on the shards of broken glass.

Harry snatched his wand up from where it had fallen, and pointed it at the teacher. "_Bombarda_", he cried as his foe began to stand up. The spell hit the professor right in the stomach, sending him flying back against the wall, a muffled shriek of pain filling the room.

Harry kept his wand pointed at Quirrell, looking for any sign of movement. The teacher's wand was still lying near the mirror, several feet away from its owner, but Harry had seen that Quirrell was capable of at least some spells without a wand.

His caution, however, was not needed. Quirrell lay on the ground, choking as blood leaked out of his mouth, and out of his now shredded internal organs.

"You fool! Defeated by a mere child!" The high-pitched voice berated, and then, to Harry's astonishment, a dark cloud emerged from out of the back of Quirrell's head, and coalesced into a vaguely humanoid shape.

"You have won this time, Potter, but Lord Voldemort will return!" With this promise, the spirit flew out through a wall, leaving Harry shocked, his heavy breathing echoing throughout the now silent room.

Harry turned his attention back to the fallen professor. Fear welled up inside him. He had killed someone. And never mind that it was self-defense. That didn't seem to matter in the wizarding world. He had killed someone, quite brutally, while he himself was uninjured.

_He was uninjured._ He calmed down as a plan came to mind. A crazy plan. An audacious plan. But it just might work.

Throwing the trunk to Timeland on the ground, he climbed in quickly, rushing through the cabinet to his sanctuary, where he placed the Stone inside one of the drawers in the study.

He climbed back out of the trunk, and shrunk it once more. _I have to hide it somewhere_, he thought. Then a flash of inspiration hit. Opening his emergency kit, he quickly ate two granola bars, putting one wrapper in his pocket as a clue to himself, and used the other to somewhat conceal the trunk inside the box. It wasn't perfect, but it should at least pass a quick inspection.

He opened the fourth compartment in the kit, grabbing a temporary forgetfulness potion, and put it on the ground next to him. He would have to work quickly. He had no idea how long it would be before Dumbledore came, and once he took the potion, he would only have about 10 seconds before it took effect. He strode over to the mirror, picked up Quirrell's wand and put it over near the body, then walked back to where he had originally been standing.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he raised his wand and pointed it at his left arm, just a little below the shoulder. "_Reducto_", he said quietly, hoping to minimize the damage from the spell. He nearly screamed as the spell hit, but he pushed his way through the pain to finish his plan. He did scream when the bone exploding hex hit his leg. He fell to the ground, panting.

With the last of his willpower, he drank the potion, then quickly placed the empty vial in the kit where it would be easily seen. He shrunk the kit back down, and slipped it into his left pocket where he normally kept the Timeland trunk. As the light faded and the room began to spin, Harry threw his wand over near Quirrell's body.

He could hear noise in the next chamber, but it was too late for him to care. Darkness took him.

* * *

A/N – I've always wondered how anyone could think Voldemort was afraid of Dumbledore after what we saw in Philosopher's Stone. As Harry realized in this chapter, Voldemort's behavior in that book is not at all in line with how someone behaves around the person they fear. It makes far more sense that Voldemort didn't want to outright confront Dumbledore because Dumbledore's approach to the war (focusing on non-lethal methods) gave a big advantage to the Death Eaters. (While the whole 'Dumbledore always gives everybody second chances' thing is not specifically stated in canon, I think that his behavior in book 6 when Draco Malfoy is endangering the other students provides compelling evidence for that viewpoint) If people thought that Dumbledore held the key to victory, they would follow his ineffective methods. Voldemort's reluctance to directly engage Dumbledore was not because of fear. It was him simply following the old adage of 'never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake'. And given how successful Voldemort had been before that Halloween, it was working.

On a similar note, Dumbledore clearly didn't want to directly confront Voldemort, either. The guy has a pet phoenix capable of taking him anywhere instantly. Dumbledore could/should have been the first responder against most DE raids, but it doesn't seem that was the case. Indeed, in book 5, he's the last one to join the fight, even though the life of the 'Chosen One' is on the line.


	13. Chapter 12: Just the Beginning

Chapter 12: Just the Beginning

Harry shot up, panting heavily as the memories faded. He looked around, relaxing gradually as he realized that he was safe in Timeland. He looked at his arm, and at his leg. _I can't believe I actually did that to myself,_ he thought. But, of course, it had worked. It seemed that Dumbledore had believed that Harry had no memory of what happened.

Harry stood up, and walked stiffly over to the study. As expected, the Philosopher's Stone was there, hidden inside the second drawer of the desk. Harry studied the dark red stone carefully. _Is it even real?_ He remembered the suspicions that had grown with each challenge. _Why would something so important be protected by such weak obstacles?_ Could it be that Dumbledore had arranged the whole thing as a means of drawing Harry and Voldemort into a confrontation?

Harry set the stone down on the desk. He couldn't tell anyone that he got his memories back, or that he had the stone. Not without some assurance that they wouldn't betray him.

Mind still racing, he stood, and made his way to the gym. Madam Pomfrey said that some light exercise would help with the residual stiffness from the potion. Maybe it would help get his mind off of things, as well.

* * *

The next day, Harry was in the stands on the Quidditch Pitch, watching unsurprised as Gryffindor got demolished by the house of the nerds. Ravenclaw's team functioned like a well-oiled machine, each player knowing exactly what they needed to do. The blind passes were incredible, as were the beater plays, using bludgers to cover the chasers as they swooped past the Gryffindor line to score. Even Oliver's incredible skill at the goals wasn't enough to stop the massacre.

Through it all, the new Gryffindor Seeker, Cormac McLaggen, was flying aimlessly around the pitch. At first, it seemed that he had been trying to tell the others what to do, but a word from Oliver during a time-out put an end to that.

Harry scoffed. McLaggen wasn't much of a seeker. Harry could see the snitch now, hovering near the ground about a third of the way toward the Ravenclaw goals. With Ravenclaw only up by 110 points, if Gryffindor caught the snitch they would win. But it wasn't to be. Several minutes later, the score was up to 240 – 70. Even if Gryffindor caught the snitch, they would still lose.

"It's your fault we're losing," Seamus snarled to Harry as the Ravenclaw seeker swooped down in pursuit of the elusive winged ball.

Harry shrugged. "If Gryffindor house wanted me to play on the team, they shouldn't have treated me like a leper for months. You all have nobody to blame but yourselves."

There were some scowls at his statement, but Harry was interested to note that there were also some guilty expressions. _Maybe things will work out after all_, he thought.

* * *

Long after the other boys had fallen asleep, Harry lay awake, thinking about his plans for the future. The farewell feast would be the next day, and they would all be heading home the day after that. If there was anything else he wanted to do here at the school, he would need to work quickly.

He thought back to the quote from _Eye of the World_. "Voldemort cannot be defeated without chancing risks," he whispered. It was true. In some ways, it changed nothing for him. He would be taking a risk either way. He could follow Dumbledore's example, and do nothing, hoping that somehow Voldemort would be stopped by someone else. If he did that, he was risking being caught unaware when a reimbodied Dark Lord came to kill him. Or, he could take smaller risks to ensure that he was prepared.

Idea flew through his mind. He had a large sum of gold just sitting in his Gringott's vault. Perhaps he could hire people to help him. He knew that his parents had been considering approaching some others to form their own anti-Voldemort vigilante group, one that was a bit more proactive than Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Maybe the list of people they were considering was somewhere in the office. That would at least be a starting point.

And Harry had seen firsthand just how effective magical equipment could be. His invisibility cloak was amazing, but not perfect. Surely there were other enchanted objects he could buy that would help as well. A trip to Dervish and Banges would certainly be helpful. And his mother's diary had mentioned another place, Borgin and Burkes, which had a variety of darker objects that could be very useful in a war.

A war was truly what he was preparing for. Last time, Voldemort had managed to kill hundreds, maybe even thousands, because very few were willing to stand up to him, and those that did used ineffective methods. Harry would not be like them.

He continued to plot and plan until eventually, sleep claimed him.

* * *

Harry scoffed mentally as Dumbledore awarded Neville and Hermione points. Not that they didn't deserve them. They did. But it was clear this was more about currying favor with Harry than any sort of deserved reward. After all, willingly risking your life to stop the worst Dark Lord in centuries should be worth more than just a pat on the head and a few house points. That didn't stop the excitement at Gryffindor table, however.

By the time the headmaster had gotten to Harry's points, the dark-haired boy had already decided how to respond. "No thank you, Headmaster. I'm going to have to refuse those points," he said, standing to make himself both seen and heard.

This seemed to throw Dumbledore for a loop. "Excuse me, Harry?"

"I said I'm going to have to refuse those points. Gryffindor House has made it very clear that they don't want me as a member, and after months of being insulted, the feeling is mutual. I don't want my actions to benefit the house of the backstabbing jackals." With a smile, he sat down, blithely ignoring the glares and stares that came his way from all angles.

* * *

The ride home was surprisingly quick. Harry was slightly disappointed when he learned that he couldn't do magic at home, but it didn't matter that much. He could go to Timeland any time that he wanted, and he knew there were wards around the complex that would keep him from being detected.

Harry sat with Neville and Hermione, the three preteens discussing their plans for the summer holidays. Neville would be spending a great deal of time at home, hopefully in his greenhouses, but it sounded like his Gran had some other plans for him as well. Hermione would be travelling to the continent with her family.

Harry shared some of his goals for the summer, mindful not to reveal anything too shocking. Too shocking, of course, proved to be a relative term. The first item on his to-do list was enough to have his friends staring at him in shock and horror.

"I'm not saying I'm just going to up and run away, but it would be nice to get away from the Dursleys. I don't like them, they don't like me. It would be good for everyone," he said, trying to defend himself as his friends looked at each other nervously.

"Well, you could come to my house, if you wanted," Neville suggested. Hermione remained silent, a worried expression on her face.

Harry gave a non-committal response, mentally filing that offer under the column of 'last resort'. From what Neville had said, his Gran was a big Dumbledore supporter. It wouldn't be easy to get everything he needed done with someone like that looking over his shoulder.

The train pulled into the station, and the students swarmed toward the doors. All around the platform, families were happily reunited. It was a bit painful to watch, but for the first time that he could remember, Harry Potter knew what he was doing with his life. He had a goal in mind, and nothing would stop him now.

After a brief word with Ron Weasley's mother to thank her for the Christmas gift, Harry passed through the portal into the main area of King's Cross. Uncle Vernon was waiting nearby, a glower on his face as he saw his nephew.

As they drove back to Little Whinging, Harry couldn't help but grin. He knew that the real challenge was about to begin.

_And I'll be ready for it._

* * *

A/N – Thanks to everyone for reading, and for all your comments. As you can tell, this marks the end of Book 1. Thanks for sticking with it; I hope it didn't feel too much like a straight re-hash of Philosopher's Stone.

The first chapter of Book 2, Harry Potter and the Hands of Justice, is now up. This is where things really start to deviate from canon. We'll see just how effective Harry can be when he decides to be proactive in dealing with the challenges that come his way, instead of waiting until the last minute, then frantically scrambling to find a solution. But of course, once the butterfly starts flapping its wings, the hurricane will eventually follow…


	14. The story continues

For anyone that missed it, the sequel to this story, Harry Potter and the Hands of Justice, is up and completed.

The third book in this series, Harry Potter and the Inquisitor of Hogwarts, is now up.

Enjoy!


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